by Amy Faye
“What makes you say that?”
I don’t put nearly enough doubt into my voice to make him believe me. Maybe I should try harder, but I can’t make myself.
“I don’t know,” he says absently. “I just had the thought.”
“Sure,” I agree. “I get that. But no, we’re not fighting or anything.”
I don’t know if we’re not fighting. Maybe we are. But then again, I’m not really ready to discuss it.
“I get that, for sure. But then again, how’s your sex life? If you don’t mind my asking.
I sputter and blink. “I’m sorry? Sex life?”
“Too forward?”
I blink hard and try to think of a response that’s going to work, without sounding like I’m some kind of psychopath. Without telling an obvious lie that’s going to show on my face.
“I don’t want to talk about that sort of stuff. It’s not appropriate.”
“Sure, sure.”
He doesn’t look like he’s sure, though. He looks like he’s still looking for a way that he can get the information that he wants, and I’m starting to get more than a little annoyed by it.
“So is there some reason that you came by?”
“Well, if you’re happily screwing like rabbits, then I guess not. I don’t have anything to say, and nothing to offer you. But if you’re not…”
“Get to the point,” I say, hoping that I put enough growl into my voice to sound like I’m starting to get angry. Maybe I am starting to get angry, in spite of myself.
“If you weren’t having a lot of baby-making sex, then let me give you a piece of advice. You try like hell, you have maybe a thirty-percent chance of getting pregnant in a given month. If you want to have a baby in the next twelve months, that gives you a three month window. That’s if things go real well for you.”
“I’m not sure that I’m understanding what you’re getting at.”
“Well, that’s thirty percent, and then thirty percent of the remaining seventy, that’s twenty one. Then thirty percent of the remaining forty-nine… you’re only at about seventy percent. It’s not a guarantee, by any stretch of the imagination. Without any fertility treatments, without IVF, without anything like that to make sure that you’re pregnant from day one, it’s almost impossible to guarantee.”
“So?”
“So, what I’m saying is, if one of us were already pregnant, that couple would have a big leg up in the race to have a child, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you trying to say…”
“I’m not saying that we’re not pregnant,” he says, with a shrug. Katja shrugs, too, but she does a worse job hiding it.
“Congratulations, then. For the maybe-pregnancy.”
“Thank you,” Arthur answers. “Now, as far as why you’d do that…”
I don’t need to be told why I might want to do it. But I’d rather that the words came out of his mouth first.
“Go on.”
“Whoever doesn’t have a child in the next year, and isn’t married, they’re going to be disinherited. Their slice of the pie gets redistributed.”
“Okay?”
“The way I see it, Terry’s not going to get married. He’s not going to have a child. There’s no way. You’d have to get married yesterday, and then conceive the child practically instantly. It’s a losing proposition.”
“And Jasper?”
“That’s where you come in. I don’t expect you to walk away empty-handed so that you can screw over my brother, but the way that you look at him, I don’t think there will be any love lost between the two of you.”
“What’s your point?”
“You don’t get pregnant, or make sure the baby doesn’t go to term in the next twelve months, and we’ll make sure that you’re taken care of.”
“Be specific with me. What’s that mean?”
“Ten million,” he says finally. “Ten million dollars, and you walk away a very happy woman. You want to have a child after that? Even with my stick-up-his-ass brother, and you do what you want. Not that there will be much reason to stick around when he’s some nobody on the street, disowned and penniless.”
“Can I think about it?”
“You have all the time in the world to think about it,” Art answers. “And, uh…”
“What?”
“If you did decide that you wanted to freeze Jasper out.”
“What about it?”
“My wife wanted me to let you know that we’re always ready to make sure that a woman as attractive as you are doesn’t have to go without a little physical entertainment, if you get my meaning.”
I blink. There’s a lot to think about in what he’s just said. A lot to unpack. And on top of it all, the clearest imaginable come-on.
“I’ll, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’ll think about it.”
“Let us know,” he says. Katja winks and leans forward, showing a little too much flesh down the front of her blouse.
“See you later,” she offers. “Hopefully.”
I see them out the door and lock it behind them as they leave. There’s way too much to unpack there for a dozen lifetimes. No way that I’m going to be able to get it all figured out at once. But I’m going to have to make sure that someone does, because this family is fucking messed up.
Thirteen
Jasper
I don’t like people showing up at my house. I like it less when I know who the people are, and I know exactly why they’re avoiding me. So watching Art’s car pull out of my driveway, watching him drive off, is about as frustrating as I can stand. But I’m smarter than he is. At least, I’m lucky enough to get into situations, and then I capitalize on opportunities better than he ever did or ever will.
It’s only after he’s disappeared over the hill that I pull myself out from my spot in front of the neighbor’s house. The spot that I’ve been occupying for ten minutes, after I saw the car outside.
Pull into the driveway, climb out of the car, and make my way slowly across the drive. I take a deep breath, force myself to calm down. There’s an opportunity, here. An opportunity to understand what’s happened and maybe learn something. Whether I’m going to learn something about my brother, or about my wife, I’m not sure. But it’s a learning opportunity just the same, and I mean to take full advantage of it if at all possible.
“Hello?” I call into the house. “Cait?”
She stands up from the couch as I enter through the garage door. There’s a look of surprise in her eyes that she quickly tries to pass off. “You’re home early.”
“I guess so,” I say. My shoulders shrug. “Not much to do at work today. So I left a little early.”
Cait nods. “Well, did you have a good day?”
“Slow. Got a lot of side stuff done, I guess.” I rub my head. “Did we have visitors?”
“Oh,” she says. I can see her take a few moments to decide how much she’s going to tell me. I let her think about it; this is part of the learning experience. “Yeah, your, uh… brother.”
“Which one? The one with the hair, or…”
“Arthur?” She pinches her lips together. “That’s it, right? Arthur?”
“The younger one, long hair?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“That’s Arthur.”
“And his wife,” Cait adds. “They came by to talk to you.”
“Too bad they didn’t stick around,” I say softly. There’s a lie there, and I can see it without having to squint. There’s no way that he came here to see me. If he wanted to talk to me, then he would have come to the office. If he wanted to talk with me at home, then he’d have come after office hours.
Instead, he came in the middle of the day, when I should have been at work for another two hours.
“I told him he could wait here, but…”
“But?”
“He had some interesting ideas about family relations.”
I blink. “Interesting ideas?”
“I think his wife was coming on to me, specifically.”
“So you asked them to leave?”
“Why? You wish I’d gone for his wife?” She raised an eyebrow and her mouth twisted into a smirk. “That’s dirty.”
“Not even a little bit,” I growl. The Katja’s not an unattractive woman, under all that makeup. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen her bare-faced. But I’ve never imagined what it would be like to see her without any clothes on. I’ve never been interested.
“So what did you want to do, then, now that you’re home so early?”
“What did I want to do?”
“Yeah. Did you have some plans for today, or are we just going to pass the time?”
“I had one plan,” I say. I try to use my tone to imply what that plan might be.
“First Katja, now you. It’s been quite a day.”
“You’ll find that I’m not a woman, so at least it’s a change of pace, right?”
She leans back against the arm of the couch. “Who says I don’t like women?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Am I?” She waggles her eyebrows. “You’ll never know.”
I step closer to her, and now I’m definitely within her space. “You tease.”
She tries to hide the widening smile on her face, but she doesn’t succeed.
“Who says that I’m a tease?”
“Fine, you don’t want to be a tease any more?”
“Who says I ever was?”
“Bend over,” I say, my voice low and vaguely threatening.
She turns around and makes a big show out of levering at the hips, pressing her ass back against my groin. I can feel more than just a twinge there, where our bodies meet. God, do I want her.
My hand slips out of my pocket, reaches around to touch her hip. Then she straightens up.
“I guess you’re right,” she says to me. “I am a tease.”
My jaw tightens and I look at her hard. It’s a damn fine way to act, isn’t it? Still, she’s within her rights. Not only to refuse, but after everything else that I’ve put her through, she’s allowed to push my buttons a little. Not that I like it.
“Fine, then. What else?”
She steps away. The tension in the room doesn’t go away. That, or the tension in my shoulders. The room temperature does drop a couple of degrees.
“Well, it’s still pretty early. You want to grab lunch?”
“I could eat,” I say. I haven’t had a bite since breakfast, but I skip lunch often enough that I’m only peckish.
“Then let’s get going. The longer we stay around here, the longer that you’ve got to get ideas, and I think we both know how much success you’re going to get. Emphasis on the ‘suck.’”
I roll my eyes, but my teeth gritting together is as clear a sign as can be had that I’m not entirely pleased by the situation. She knows it, and what’s more, I know she knows it.
But I’m not going to force her to do anything that she really doesn’t want to do, and she knows that, too. Which gives her all the power in the world, in spite of the little devil on my shoulder shouting in my ear to take what we both want and damn the consequences.
Fourteen
Cait
I think of myself as playing a pretty dangerous game here. Eventually, I’m going to be out in the cold because he’s going to decide that he’s sick of the cat and mouse game. That, or he’s going to take things into his own hands. I know which one I’d prefer, and I hate myself a little bit for it.
After all, I’m supposed to be smart. Supposed to be tough. I got myself this far, and aside from the one little slip-up that put me in trouble in the first place, I have played my hand pretty well, I think. Except that I’m not really sure that I’m doing half as well as I think I am.
Because I might be able to tell him no in theory, but in practice, if I get that close again, I’m going for it and there’s nothing that anyone can do to stop me. Least of all myself.
I let out a low breath as I sit in the car, driving home. My guts have been in a twist since he came home, and I can’t begin to say why. There’s just something about him. Something today, something that’s setting me off. If he doesn’t get the hell out of here so I can take care of myself, I’m going to go insane.
“So aside from work,” I hear myself saying dimly. “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” he says. “I guess. Not much to say. Aside from work, that is.”
I let my head fall back. God. It’s taking almost all of my concentration not to just start touching myself right here and now. I try to keep my hands from looking like I’m straining to keep them under control, but if he sees me, then I honestly don’t care any more. I just need to avoid…
Something touches my leg. A point of heat at the mid-thigh level. There’s a moment of doubt, where I’m not sure what is happening, and then I realize. It’s his hand, tracing a line up and down my thigh. I send the signal from my brain to my body to stop him. But my body sends a signal back. No can do, it says.
Instead, I relax into it. His hand drifts higher. I open my eyes and look over at him. I expect to see some hard stare at me, his eyes fixed, daring me to stop him. But there’s nothing in them at all. He’s watching the road, as if he hadn’t realized his hand was here, distracting the hell out of me.
Should I say something? Should I stop him? Can I make myself?
His hand drifts higher still, the hem of my skirt going with it. The moment of decision comes and goes and I do nothing. Nothing to encourage him, I hope, but definitely nothing intended to stop him.
His hand drifts all the way up, now. To where the side of his little finger brushes against my crotch, reminding me exactly what’s at stake here. If I stop him, I keep my pride. If I let him be, then I get to cum, and I tell myself I don’t know which is more important. The really ugly truth is that I do.
A gasp escapes my lips as his hand stays there, his little finger teasing me through the fabric.
“Oh God.”
“We’re almost home,” he says. His voice is warm and calm. As if I were a fussy child. “Be a little patient, and you’ll be well-rewarded.”
“Please, Jasper.”
“Please, what?”
I press myself down into his hand. There’s no way that he can misinterpret it, and there’s no way that I can deny I’m doing it. He smiles. “Who says that you get a choice?”
“I always get a choice,” I growl. “And I can tell you no any time.”
“You’re right,” he says. His hand turns and it’s not his little finger teasing gently any more. His middle finger presses hard enough to make sure that I know exactly what I’m going to be missing, and enough to send a lightning bolt of pleasurable energy shooting up to the base of my skull. “You can. Go ahead. Tell me to stop.”
I open my mouth, and then close it again. I should know better than to let him get away with this. Once you’ve let someone have control over you, it’s gone forever. But I know another thing more than that, and it’s that once you’re revved up, you need to let your engine run. And I’ll be God damned if I can tell myself no.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I growl.
He pulls off the street. It’s still mid-day, the sun still high in the sky, but on the side of the highway, in a pull-off, I doubt that anyone will be able to stop us. I doubt that anyone will even notice, but if they do, they won’t even try. As long as I can cum, I don’t really care whether or not they make the effort.
The engine turns off and his seat slides back and I work his belt and his fly and his cock is out before I know it. It’s big and stiff and everything that it always is, except for one difference. This time, I’m not going to just be sucking it. I take it in my mouth long enough to make sure that it’s wet before climbing over the divider and into his seat, which is slowly leaning back, as fast as the electric seat adjustment will go.
My panties move off to the side, and my hips rub against his cock. I had m
ade sure that it was moistened before I moved over, in case it needed some help. I was horny as hell, but sometimes natural lubrication isn’t all that you hope it will be.
This time, though, I needn’t have been so hasty. I rock my hips forward, feeling the shaft pressing along the length of my outer lips, and then his hips shift and his cock lifts a little and when I grind my hips back I feel him slide into me easily.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt so full. His cock curves inside me, hitting the exact spots I need. The exact spots that I want. I feel like I’m going to go insane. I know one thing for certain, I’m not going to be able to go without this again, not very long.
My hips start to move. His hands fall on my waist, helping me, but I don’t need any encouragement to keep moving. The feeling of his head, pressing deep inside me with every roll forward, and the feeling of pleasure as he scrapes along the inside, the tip of his cock hitting every pleasurable spot along the way, encourages me to pull away again, too.
I should be able to keep control of myself better. I should be smarter, cooler, and more restrained, so that he doesn’t think he’s hot shit.
But I don’t care at this point. I just need more, and in spite of myself, he gives me more. And dear God, do I want it.
It’s not until I’m shivering on his cock for the second time, hearing his groaning beneath me as his cock twitches with orgasm, that I realize something.
I’m ovulating.
Fifteen
Jasper
I don’t know what put the thought into my head first. Maybe it was the trip to Ohio. Maybe it was the need to try to coerce Cait into every little thing, and at some point the straw came down that broke the camel’s back. Any number of things could have been the one that messed me up, but I know one thing for sure:
I’m not a very good person.
It never bothered me, before. I was never a good person, not even when I was young, before I got into business, but it didn’t matter. Being a bad person was an asset that I couldn’t afford to throw by the wayside because of a little thing like someone’s feelings.
