Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

  Weston shoots him a tight-lipped smile. They’re friends again. So he wanted to fuck his wife, he admitted it, and it’s all good.

  But it’s not all good. Gabe has no intention of letting this go. Once he latches onto something, like a bloodsucker, he doesn’t budge.

  “I bet it’s driving you crazy, not being able to get your hands on her this week,” he says, playful as always. He’s clearly toying with Weston. “Seeing her every day, and not being able to touch.”

  If only Gabe knew about the very naughty snorkeling lesson.

  Weston smiles, but doesn’t say a word. He stares down at his beer, trails his finger along the edge of the glass. He doesn’t seem to want to play along. And I don’t want him to play along either. I don’t like where this is heading.

  Gabe leans in closer, his hand trails along my thigh, under the skirt of my dress. “And trust me, she doesn’t need you this week. I’ve been taking care of her plenty.”

  Bridget laughs. “I’m sure you have.”

  This is going too far. Obviously Gabe has had a few too many.

  “Knock it off, Gabe,” I whisper and pull his hand away gently.

  “Has he, Mirella?” Weston asks, “Has he been taking care of you?” His question shocks me. It seems he’s decided to play along after all. There’s an intensity about him. His eyes are fixed on us and he seems focused, intent on something, on what, I’m not sure. He seems completely unaffected by Bridget who is hanging off him, in a sleek tiny red dress.

  I don’t know how to answer.

  “Has he?” he presses. “I was certainly under that impression.”

  “We’ve been having ourselves a good time,” Gabe chimes in, his hand still under the skirt of my dress. He’s clearly taunting, baiting him. But I’m not sure if Weston’s going to bite. I’m curious. Suddenly, I’m itching to see if he’s going to bite.

  Weston glares at him. “I didn’t ask you,” he snaps.

  Yep, he’s biting.

  Gabe is clearly getting to him.

  “Uh…Weston, I…” I stammer, at a loss for words. I’ve been cornered. I sit up and set my empty martini glass on the coffee table. My glass makes a wet circle on the driftwood. I need to go. Where? I’m not sure. But I do know I’m in no state to handle this situation. Whatever the hell this is.

  I’m just about to walk away when Gabe grabs me, his large hands on my hips, pulling me back to him, and propping my rear right on top of him.

  My heart drops. “Uh…Gabe.” I try to wiggle off, but he holds me in a strong grip. He’s just being playful and carefree. I don’t know why I’m being so uptight. I have quite a few drinks in me, you’d think I’d be a little more relaxed.

  Gabe sweeps my hair to one side, over my shoulder. “Answer him.” His breath is warm on my shoulder. I let my body relax and lean into him. I like sitting on him like this. It’s slightly arousing.

  “Yes,” I finally manage. The word so soft, fading into the night. “I’m sorry,” I add, feeling guilty to be so clearly having sex in Weston’s home, for being so inappropriate.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” he says softly. “He’s your husband.” He points out as he looks up from his glass. His gaze fixes me through his beautiful lashes.

  God, he is exquisite.

  Gabe trails his hand further up between my thighs. And this time, I don’t pull his hand away. I close my eyes and listen to the sensual music in the background, all the while, feeling Weston’s gaze on me.

  Gabe kisses the back of my neck softly and sweeps his hand against my sex, under the cotton of my dress, over the silk of my panties. I breathe harder.

  I open my eyes to see Weston. He’s still watching me. His eyes seem to darken, his expression exposing him completely. He likes watching us. Bridget watches with curiosity, her arm wrapped around her husband’s neck.

  I can’t believe we’re doing this, so blatantly, in front of them. Part of me wants to get up and walk away, and the other part of me—the blood flowing hot through my veins, the palpitating heart, and the throbbing sex—wants to see how all this plays out.

  Gabe slides his finger along the band of my panties. His touch is so warm against my skin. He teases.

  Bridget kisses Weston’s neck, but it doesn’t seem to distract him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of us.

  My breath runs away from me. I try to keep a hold of it. I’m so scared.

  I don’t like this. This is not where I want the night to go. I never signed up for an orgy. I plan my escape. I figure I can get up right now and pull Gabe along to our room, and we can finish what we started there.

  Weston whispers in Bridget’s ear. A frown skitters across her forehead so quickly, I’m not even sure if it’s there at all. She whispers something back. He plays with a lock of her hair and breathes something into her ear. She smiles. Oh, how I would love to know what they’re saying.

  Bridget gets to her feet, shoots us a tight-lipped smile and leaves the room.

  He’s asked her to leave.

  So he could watch us alone.

  The thought arouses me.

  I close my eyes and enjoy Weston’s eyes on me, and Gabe’s hands.

  Gabe pulls at my panties. He’s clearly itching to take them off.

  We’re really doing this.

  I pull my rear off him slightly. I don’t really know what’s gotten into me. And I really don’t care.

  He tugs the panties slowly down my legs, revealing them to Weston as he drags them over my knees.

  I can see the desire on Weston’s face. But he remains still as a statue. He doesn’t say a word, his eyes glued to me. He sweeps a finger slowly along his jaw and swallows hard.

  Gabe pulls at my hips. “I’m planning to fuck my beautiful wife on this ugly chair,” he finally says, his words loud and clear, without apology. “If you’d like us to take this to our room, just say the word.”

  I stop breathing for a good five seconds. Gabe is so bold. I can’t believe his audacity. He’s clearly drunk.

  But Weston, who seems in complete control of his faculties, doesn’t utter a word. He watches us still as he leans back on the leather of the sectional sofa across us. His thin T-shirt rides up, revealing that delicious dark line below his navel. The sweaty half-empty glass of beer is still propped up on one leg.

  And he doesn’t budge.

  Gabe pulls my panties over my bare feet. They fall in a soft whisper on the area rug—a spot of fuchsia on the cream carpeting. “Well, well, well…” he whispers, “it looks like your boyfriend likes to watch.”

  I know.

  This is why I want to do this. For him. I would never ever do this under any other circumstances.

  But I know him.

  I know he gets off on watching. And I want to excite him.

  Gabe props me up on top of him, and strokes my hips softly. I can’t see his expression, but I can feel his arousal pressing against me. The sweep of his rough hands on my bare skin feels so good. My senses are heightened by Weston’s gaze.

  And suddenly, I really want to do this; every cell of my body wants to do this.

  My words are ragged, they seem almost foreign when I whisper, “What are you waiting for?”

  He pushes me off him ever so slightly, and I hear the familiar sounds of him freeing himself.

  I reach under the cotton of my dress, and grab him, he’s hard in my hand. I close my eyes as I rub against his shaft and tease myself. I tilt my head back as I enjoy the sensation of him against my clit. I open my eyes. I want to not only feel Weston’s eyes on me, I want to see them—the intense brilliant greens boring into me.

  This is so hot.

  I’m so wet Gabe sinks easily into me, penetrates me fully in one swift move. Weston can’t see a thing, the skirt of my dress covers us completely. But judging from the look in his eyes, I know he knows.

  I close my eyes. I imagine Weston coming to me, taking my face into his hand, and kissing me while Gabe presses into me. I know he would n
ever. I open my eyes and stare at him, rocking my hips up and down against Gabe as I fantasize about Weston joining us.

  I ride Gabe, moving off his hips slowly, and back down again, and back up, languid, not taking my eyes off Weston. He watches us still with dark eyes.

  I can tell he’s hard.

  This is the most erotic moment of my life. I almost don’t want it to end. But as Gabe presses into me just right, a hand wrapped tightly around my hips, the sensations take me over. My moans melt into the silence of the night. I press harder into him as my body strives for more pleasure. He pounds into me hard and bites a groan into my shoulder as he comes. I let out a whimper as my own orgasm overtakes me. I can’t bear to look at Weston when I reach it. I tilt my head to the side and close my eyes as the waves crash through me; strong and breathtakingly powerful. I can feel the tingle travel back down my spine as I’m brought back down to reality.

  I press my sweaty palms against my thighs as mortification washes over me. Suddenly, I no longer want to be in my body. I want to disappear. I don’t want to be sitting here, pressed against a man, with another’s gaze fixed on me. My heart beats hard as I finally summon the courage to open my eyes.

  And he’s gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  And I like to be watched.

  I WAKE UP AND IMMEDIATELY bury my face in my pillow, not wanting to face the day ahead. I can’t believe what Gabe and I did last night. It was so unlike me. I know I’ll be thinking about that night when I’m ninety years old, and I’ll just cringe. Or maybe I’ll be wearing a naughty smile, I don’t really know.

  But the problem is today.

  Today is the day I have to face Weston, knowing what we all did last night, less than ten hours ago. Some people might say it’s not a big deal, but for me it is. I’ve never done anything even remotely like that before.

  But I don’t regret it. It was the most erotic moment of my life. I can still see Weston’s expression, as he was watching us…pure arousal. I so wanted him to come to me. But I’m glad he didn’t, because if he had, Gabe and I definitely wouldn’t be able to face him this morning.

  Thank goodness, he didn’t.

  I help myself to some cereal, trying to work out a way to avoid Weston. Maybe Gabe and I could go off together, check out the area, go on a little excursion, just the two of us. We’ve all spent so much time together a break might be nice.

  My stomach drops when I see Weston standing at the kitchen doorway. He seems stuck there, like he can’t quite make his way in. “Hi,” he ventures, and I spot a flush on his cheeks.

  My heart pounds in my chest. “Hi.”

  I’m not sure who should more embarrassed; him or us? We were the ones having sex, but he was the one watching us.

  He shuffles across the kitchen, slowly making his way to me. I can tell he’s just as horribly mortified as I am. Possibly even more. He stares down at the kitchen floor tiles. “About last night…”

  I smile at him, or a hint of a smile maybe. I want to make this easy for him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he says, looking down at me. “I’m the one—”

  “No explanation needed, Weston.”

  He clears his throat. “I…I just don’t want you to think I’m some kind of deviant.”

  I bite my lip, remembering the night before, his beautiful eyes fixed on me—the same stunning eyes gazing at me cautiously right this second. “I think we were all kind of tipsy.”

  He rubs the back his neck and smiles, obviously still drowning in mortification. “Yes, perhaps a little.”

  I swallow, trying to work up the courage to be honest. I loved it. I loved him watching us. I feel myself getting worked up, becoming aroused by the vivid memory. But I just can’t say the words out loud. “It doesn’t have to be weird, Weston,” I say instead. “You’re making too big a deal of it. We had fun.”

  Relief washes over his face. “Well, you two sure did,” he teases with a flicker of a smile. And he still stares down at the floor as he turns on his heel, and scurries out of the kitchen.

  Yes, definitely more than a little awkward.

  I can’t believe it’s already here, our last day in Hawaii. I suppose paradise had to end sometime. But on the bright side, tonight, we’re going out!

  I’m so excited. It seems we’ve been cooped up in this villa all week. But I must say, as far as places to be cooped up in go, this one is heavenly. This has been the most unforgettable week of my life.

  Bridget tells me we’re going to a nice restaurant and possibly to a bar for some dancing. “Wear something ‘clubby,’” she says with a sweep of her classic red lipstick, our likenesses reflected in the mirrors of her palatial en-suite.

  I follow her into her bedroom, their bedroom, under the pretext of being in conversation with her, but I really want to snoop. I step out into the vast bedroom and take in the space. Their room offers the best view of the ocean, with floor to ceiling windows. A mountain of white linens lies on the floor. The housekeeper is in the midst of making their bed.

  “I have just the perfect dress,” I tell Bridget.

  “Oh, Lord, I have so many dresses to choose from,” she tells me as she steps into her walk-in closet. Her shrill voice echoes against its walls. “It’s such a nightmare.”

  I spot the housekeeper roll her eyes a little and I smile. She smiles back and we’re officially friends, privy to our own little private joke.

  “I’m Mirella, by the way,” I offer.

  “I’m Malaya,” she says, cheerful.

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “This dress,” she says, methodically folding sheet corners under the mattress, just so. “What is it like?”

  “It’s pretty. I got it special for this trip. It’s shimmery blue and slinky. The fabric drapes in a puddle of folds at the neckline. And at the back, it dips dangerously low.”

  “It sounds very sexy,” she says with a sly smile.

  I laugh. “Yes, it’s a little sexy.”

  “Your husband will like it,” she adds.

  And Mrs. Hanson’s husband too, I almost want to add.

  “It’s pretty short. My best friend Gwen got it for me but she wouldn’t let me have it. She gave it to me four days later, three inches shorter.”

  She laughs, pulling the crisp white flower embroidered comforter over the bed. “Your friend sounds fun.”

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “Well, speaking of dresses,” Bridget chimes in. “I’m thinking of going with a suit tonight.”

  What?

  Malaya and I look at each other and make a face.

  “Trust me,” I tell Malaya. “She’ll look amazing.”

  She always does.

  We hop into the gleaming Escalade, all four of us, looking fabulous. I was right, Bridget looks super smart in a tailored white jacket and capris with black detailing, a black sequin top and black five-inch sandals.

  How does she do it?

  Gabe wears fitted white pants, and a fitted short sleeve white linen shirt. The tattoo on his left arm peeks through. The contrast of the white against his dark inked skin is breathtaking. He’s certainly pretty easy on the eyes tonight. Did he and Bridget talk among themselves to color-coordinate?

  Weston is wearing a light suit, all black. He’s a dark presence, staring me down. I hope he approves of my outfit because I’m the only one who is wearing color, something fun. They all look so classy. I feel a little cheap in my tiny dress. But Bridget told me to wear something “clubby.” Did she purposely sabotage me? Maybe the clubs she frequents are a little classier than the dives Gwen and I like to shake our booties in.

  Damn.

  I really want Weston to stop staring at me. His gaze hasn’t left me since we entered the car. He seems so intense.

  Gabe chats with Bridget, holding a proprietary hand on my waist. She’s telling him about the restaurant. Apparently we’re going to a place where they serve the best seafood on the island. “Lobster
to die for,” according to Bridget.

  Weston seems completely uninterested, his eyes still fixed on me. I wonder what he’s thinking?

  It seems I’m always wondering what he’s thinking.

  Why do I care so much?

  The restaurant is magical; crisp white linen covered tables, coupled with cozy teak wooden chairs, nestled within what seems like hundreds of palm trees covered in twinkly lights. The sunset in the distance casts a warm glow, shedding a flattering light.

  As we all sit together, two seemingly ordinary couples, I can’t help but be awed by how wonderfully great the week went. And we did it. We all managed to keep our hands to ourselves. Discounting the naughty snorkeling lesson of course—that was just a little slip, in the interest of my therapy—a means to an end, really. It would appear we are not complete sexual delinquents after all.

  The menu looks mouthwatering. I peruse it as I sip yet another tropical drink. I feel my body already starting to relax. When I look up from the menu, Weston is staring at me again from across the table.

  I’m feeling bold. “You see something you like?” I ask, my tone smooth as velvet.

  He smiles, unbuttoning his top shirt button, doing away with the stiff-upper-lip look. As he checks out the menu, his eyes peer at me through long dark lashes.

  God, he’s gorgeous.

  “Yes,” he says, with a sly smile. “The lobster tail looks delicious.”

  “Does it now?” I ask, with an impish smile.

  He studies me, without a word. It seems I’ve rendered him speechless.

  His playful expression has faded.

  Neither of us makes a peep. I can hear Bridget and Gabe talking but I can’t hear what they’re saying. The clank of dishes and conversations seem to intensify.

  “I can’t wait to sink my teeth into it,” he remarks.

  Oh, God, give me strength.

  The coolness of the night feels so good on my skin. It was getting a little hot at the restaurant. I feel satiated, my belly full of grilled shrimp avocado salad, white wine, piña colada and coconut pie.

  I can’t believe this is our last day here. I try not to think about it. I never want to leave. But on the flip side, I can’t wait to see my girls again. I’ve missed them so much. I’ve never been away from them so long. I know they’ve been super busy and I honestly don’t think they’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed them, but I’m sure they can’t wait for us to get back. And Gwen and Greg too, I suspect they’re going a little stir-crazy.