by JA Huss
“We can be friends though, Quin. I’m not trying to take her place.”
He reaches over for me. His large hand comes down on my ass cheek and he pulls me on top of him until I’m straddling his legs, my hands on his shoulders.
“If I don’t fuck you… who will?”
I laugh a little, thinking… Bric? But I don’t say it. It seems impolite to say it.
“You know what I just figured out?” Quin asks.
“What?” I say, looking down at him.
He stares straight past my shoulder. Looking at some apparition of the girl he loves and lost. “We’re gonna be spending the most time together. Your days off work belong to me.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m sure Smith planned it that way to make me stop thinking about Rochelle.”
I try to fit this new information into my current world-view of what’s happening in this… relationship. But there’s missing information, or I’m not quite understanding, or whatever. Because I have to ask, “What do you mean?”
“You know. Smith can’t touch you unless…” But he stops. “You didn’t get that far yet, so I can’t say. But I can fuck you. Any way I want, any time I want, because I’m Number Two this time. I get all of you, you get all of me. We have to talk, and build a real relationship by getting to know each other. He did it on purpose. Because I was Number One last time and things…”
He stops. But I’m dying to know more. “Things… what, Quin?”
“It’s just so easy to get attached to Number One, you know?”
“Sorta,” I say. “I can see it a little bit. It was so confusing on Friday night and then Smith took me home and took over. Took control, I guess.” Quin laughs. I even get a small smile at that assessment. So I keep going. “He made a house key. And he changed my alarm code. It’s like, he moved himself in.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about what you do with them,” Quin says. “But tell me what happened next. I really need this distraction and I’ve always wondered how the other guys handled being Number One. Because obviously, I fucked it all up.”
“What do you mean?” I’m so confused.
“What did he do then?”
“He had champagne ready. He kissed me. Fingered me.”
“He got you all wound up and then he told you the rule, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. But we took a shower together and he shaved my legs. That was… interesting. And then we… masturbated in front of each other.”
“Classic Smith.” Quin lets out a small laugh that has nothing to do with happiness. “The reason he’s not allowed to touch you is because if he did, he’d have this claim on you as Number One. And we try to avoid things like that. It makes it hard to have a real plural relationship.”
“So that’s what you’re all after? The four of us as one… unit, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Quin looks at me. Finally. His hands start rubbing my thighs and I’m so fucking horny after being neglected by Smith this weekend. “We don’t find that very often. And obviously we never had a real one with Rochelle. I liked her a lot. Bric liked her OK. But Smith never liked her. That’s why he was Number Two last time.”
Ah-ha! I got that answer anyway, so fuck you, Smith Baldwin.
“Next week I’ll tell you more if you’re still confused after Bric explains the rest of it.”
I’m dying to know what Bric’s rule is. In fact, everything about this new life I’ve started with the three of them is fascinating.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Thirty-four. You?” He’s still looking at me. His hands are still rubbing my thighs. Every now and then, one will creep up my ass cheek.
“Thirty,” I say. “But I’ll be thirty-one in February.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say. “That’s our rule, right? Get to know each other.”
“Why the fuck would you agree to something like this? I mean, you’re very pretty, Chella. You’re smart, and you have a good job, and you come from serious money and power. You don’t need anything from us. You don’t need Bric’s promise of a dream come true. So why the fuck are you doing this?”
I shrug. I’m not ready to talk about all the things in my head. Or my past, or where my life is going. “When Rochelle told me about you guys I was… enthralled.”
“The book?” Quin asks. “You obviously know what that book is. And she picked you because you bought it, didn’t she?”
“Well,” I say. “So much for hiding my true motive.”
“Why do you want to hide it?”
“Come on, Quin.” I laugh. “I realize you guys have been doing this for a long time. But it’s still not… normal.”
“Oh,” he says. But his hands have been getting more and more active over the past few minutes. He’s got my thong pulled aside and his fingers are probing at the wetness between my legs, dragging it up and over the entrance to my asshole.
I have to close my eyes when he inserts his finger just a tiny fraction.
“Do you like it in the ass?” he whispers.
I bite my lip, don’t open my eyes, and nod my head. “Yes. I do.”
“Do you want to see my cock?” he asks, pulling a long strand of hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Do you want to suck it? And sit on it, and fuck me until you come all over my dick?”
I am panting with want. I am swimming in want. I will die of the longing. “Yes,” I say.
“Take off my jacket.”
I open my eyes, draw in a deep breath, and start undressing him. Underneath my pussy I can feel his cock growing through his pants.
Once I get the suit coat off, he says, “Loosen my tie. Take it off me. Put it around your head, and make it into a blindfold.” His finger slips deeper into my asshole as he says this, making me squirm and gasp. “Do it,” he gently urges.
I loosen the tie, slip it over his neck, and place it over my head, pulling it tight again when it’s over my eyes.
“That’s better,” Quin says. “Now take off my shirt.”
My fingers reach for his chest, feel for the buttons. They slid up to the top one and begin to unbutton. When I get to the waistband of his trousers, I pull the shirt out. I caress the soft hair that leads down to his hard cock.
“Don’t touch it yet, Marcella Walcott. Not until I say so. Understand?”
I nod. “Yes.” I unbutton the last two buttons and then take a deep breath as I slip the shirt down his shoulders. I can’t stop myself from feeling his muscles. I have a thing for shoulders and even though I’m blind, I can see them perfectly in my mind’s eye, just from the light flicker of contact I have through my fingertips.
“Sit up,” Quin says. “Unzip my pants, take out my cock and my balls, and then put me inside you.”
His fingers are there the instant I rise up on his lap. I have to press my lips together to stifle the moan, but it still escapes.
“Do you like that?” Quin whispers as he puts his fingers inside me.
“Yes,” I say.
“You know what I like, Chella?”
“What?” I ask, busy completing the task he gave me. His cock is thick, like Smith’s. And long, and hard, and his tip is swollen when I drag my fingers arose the slit, releasing the liquid I can’t wait to suck.
“I like all your answers tonight.” And then he chuckles. Like he’s happy. I reach up with one, the other one still busy cupping his balls, and feel his smile.
“I just want to make you happy, Quin.”
“You are, Chella. You’re making so many things better tonight. Now fuck me, baby. Slide down on top of my cock and fuck me until you come all over it.”
I ease up, my hand sliding his tip to my entrance. And I am so fucking wet, I turn myself on when I play with my clit.
“Sit. Down.” He wants this as much as I do. This turns me on even more. So I do what he says. I sit on his cock and then sink down, letting him fill me up.
As soon as h
e’s inside me his palms cup my face and he kisses my mouth. So softly, so tenderly that instead of the desperate writhing I imagined, I move slowly, and deliberately, and carefully.
“I like that,” he says, his words deep and throaty. “Keep going. Just like that, Chella. Make me forget. Make me happy. Make me want this new future more than I want my old past.”
I kiss him back, our tongues slowly getting to know each other. My hands on his chest, then his shoulders. Feeling the curves. The hills and valleys of his biceps. I dig my nails into his back. He’s still holding my face, but his hands wander down to my arms as well. And then they push me back, just a little, just enough so he can squeeze my breasts.
We move together like lovers. Like long-time lovers. And I can’t help but wonder… if it feels so good this time, then how much better will it be next week? Next month? Next year?
“Come,” he commands. “Come first and then I’d like to fuck you hard.”
I start moving faster. More urgently. Trying to stimulate my clit and obey his command. But I don’t have to try too hard or for too long, because his fingers are right there, right where I need the friction most.
The moans coming from my mouth are so sensual, so erotic, and filthy, I wish I was recording them so I could play them for Smith and we could masturbate to the sound of my orgasm with Quin.
When I’m done, and I’m feeling spent, and I need to just rest my head on his chest for a moment… he stands up, walks me over to the window, and fucks me just the way he promised.
Hard.
We get in that new bed together. We break it in and we have sex three more times. I don’t even have time for nightmares and sleepwalking. By the time we fall asleep, a new day is starting. Our bodies are tangled together like we’re a couple, even though we’re not meant to be a couple.
He holds me tight, one hand on my breasts as his chest spoons my back, the other between my legs, like he’s making a statement of ownership.
We sleep until early afternoon and I wake to him tracing a circle around my bunched-up nipple. “Do you like this apartment?” he asks as soon as I open my eyes.
His hair is messy and perfect at the same time. I see his shoulders in the filtered light coming in from outside. “You’re fucking handsome, you know that?”
Quin smiles big at that. “Thank you,” he says. Like he knows how to take a compliment. “But do you like this place, Chella? Because it’s kinda cold and impersonal if you ask me. And I want you to like it.”
I shrug and smile. “I don’t care about the apartment. But no, it’s not really… homey, right?”
“Good,” Quin says, leaning down to kiss my mouth. “Good. We should go shopping and change that.”
Chapter Fifteen - Bric
Wednesday morning at 12:05 AM I call her. She picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Chella,” I say. “How are you?”
“Bric?” She gives me a small laugh into the phone. “I’m good. Where are you? Are you coming tonight?”
“No,” I say. “I like to come in the mornings. But I wanted to call and make sure everything is going… how you imagined it.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Good.” I hesitate. “I don’t know what else to say but I don’t feel like hanging up.”
“We could talk about your rule.”
I smile at that. “Not yet. Tomorrow. When I see you in person. I have a lot of parties coming up for Christmas and New Year’s, so I’m having some dresses delivered tomorrow. Wear the black one tomorrow night and the red one on Thursday night. They’re my favorites.”
“We’re going out?”
I can’t tell if she’s excited about that or not. “Yes. I like to go out a lot when I’m Number Three. I’ll explain that later.”
“OK.” She laughs.
“But everything is all right? You’re fine with Smith? And your time with Quin was… fun?”
“Yes,” she says. “Are we supposed to talk about that stuff?”
“As Number One, Smith was in charge of the first report. As Number Three, I’m in charge of the last one. We won’t talk about it again after this week, but if anything goes wrong you can come to me and I’ll take of it. That’s part of my role.”
“OK,” she says. “So what time will you be here tomorrow?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“AM?”
“No.” I laugh. “PM. Just before the party. We’ll have dinner downstairs with Smith and Quin. The wrap-up meeting. And then we’ll go to the party and have a good time. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds I’ll have a lot of time to wonder about you before you get here.” She tries to stifle a yawn, but doesn’t succeed.
“You’re tired,” I say into the phone. “Get some sleep and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“OK,” she says. “Good night.”
“Good night, Chella.”
Smith is grinning at me when I end the call. “What?” I ask, annoyed about him being here.
“Nothing,” he says. But he changes his mind about that answer quick enough. “She’s gonna do it. I know she will.”
“You hope she will,” I say.
“I’ll give her two more weeks but honestly, I think she’ll be up for it sooner.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Are we up for it?”
“Fuck.” Smith laughs. “After three years of that stupid Rochelle? Hell, yes we’re up for it. Don’t you miss it? Because Jesus fuck, I do. I miss it. I want it again.”
“You’re the only one who didn’t like Rochelle,” I say. “You’re the one who fucked it up. It was your fault it never worked the way we planned.”
He hesitates for a moment and I wait to see if he’ll tell me something more. Explain himself. Why he did what he did. But he doesn’t. He just says, “Well, this one will work the way we planned. So I’ll see you tomorrow night. And I cannot fucking wait to see the look on her face when you explain your rule.”
Smith gets up and walks out of the private bar overlooking the Black Room. It’s busy downstairs tonight, but he doesn’t go down there. Just waits for the elevator and when it comes, he disappears inside.
A waiter come up the stairs and talks to the sentry. They both look at me and I nod when I see the slip of paper in his hand.
The sentry places it on the table in front of me and I open it. Lucinda wants to meet with me.
I look over the railing and find her downstairs with her husband. She’s smiling up at me, hoping… but I shake my head no.
Sorry, love. I’m not in the mood, that answer says.
She frowns, then leans into her husband’s ear to whisper. Ten minutes later they are gone.
Good. I saw enough of her last weekend to last me a lifetime. She’s not that interesting. Boring is the word I’d use for Lucinda.
But Marcella Walcott. Now that woman has potential. And if Smith is right, things will get very interesting, very soon.
Wednesday goes very, very slowly at the club. Christmas is all anyone is thinking about now. December has traditionally been a slow month for Turning Point Club, and this year it’s no different. The breakfast crowd is always busy. People work. Even on Christmas Eve, the people who come here work. They are A-types. Addicted to the thrill of success. Like me. Like Smith. Like Quin. And they like to start their day with some friendly networking.
Yes, Turning Point is a sex club. We have an exclusive membership. If you have to ask how to become a member, you will never become a member. It’s by invitation only and we only accept a new member when another member quits.
That doesn’t happen often. Fathers pass this little perk onto sons. In fact, Turning Point Club membership is a very popular wedding gift in my world.
The real Club is down on the lower levels, but the White Room is open to the public and filled to capacity for dinner Monday through Thursday. If you’re lucky enough to get a reservation. And since we have forty-two active Club members who eat here regular
ly with their families, mistresses, business associates, etc., it’s not easy to get one of those.
The Black Room is not open to the public, even though it’s right across the main lobby. Members only in the bar. A little peek into the forbidden for the masses. Not much happens in there. Just bar stuff. Drinking, food, laughing, informal parties… shit like that.
But it intrigues people. No one knows what we do. Only the members know. Hell, Rochelle never even knew. She never made it downstairs. Smith was done with her long before she ever thought to ask about it.
But Chella… Chella is a maybe. I know Smith thinks he’s got her pinned. He understands why she went along with Rochelle’s set-up. But I’m not convinced she’ll go that far. I need tonight to feel her out a little more. Give her my rule. And then the final rule.
Her reaction to that is what drives me. Drives all three of us.
Smith is right, I guess. Rochelle should’ve been let go a long time ago.
I miss what we never had with her.
Everyone in the Club has a monthly health screen—even though we do insist on condoms. Everyone has a biannual appointment with the Club psychiatrist—just to make sure we nip any crazy in the bud. And everyone follows the rules.
So Turning Point is a place for members to be among friends. And breakfast is a time when friends get together.
But lunch is another matter.
Lunch today was dead. I was bored out of my mind, counting down the hours until dinner.
Quin shows up after work and joins me upstairs in Smith’s bar.
“Hey,” he says, sliding into the chair across from me and pointing at the bartender to bring him a drink. “What time will you bring her here?”
“Seven fifteen or so,” I say, sipping my drink. I want to ask him about his time with Chella, but I can’t. Not until we’re all together.
Rules. Smith and his fucking rules.
“What do you think she’s gonna say?” The bartender comes with Quin’s drink and he picks it up to sip while I consider his question.
She only has two options. Yes or no. I hate being Number Three. And this is the second fucking time I’ve gotten stuck with it. Maybe this arrangement isn’t for me anymore?
