The Submission Gift

by Solace Ames

  The Ankara Café was a subdued place in the day, with sunlight revealing carpet stains and pillows frayed at the edges. A fresh breeze came in through an open window beside the low table where Paul and Adriana sat. The breeze wafted some of Adriana’s hair over the table, and a sunray turned it gold for a second before Paul gently gathered it back into glossy darkness.

  They belong together.

  A few months ago, that thought would have terrified him. Another man taking care of Adriana in a way he couldn’t, at a cost he didn’t quite know how to pay.

  But this wasn’t the abstract concept of a man. This was Paul. Jay had seen beneath his mask, seen Paul at his most tired and heartsick. He was present in every sense. Fully named. Realer than real.

  Paul got up, his face in shadow, and beckoned to Jay.

  Jay walked over to the table, kicked off his shoes, and circled around Paul’s shoulder. Their arms came close, almost touched, drifted apart, as effortless as a dancing turn. Jay settled in next to Adriana, in the nest of pillows Paul had formerly occupied, and then Paul sat down to his right.

  They belong with me.

  “How’d it go?” Jay asked Adriana. Once he turned to her, he couldn’t look away—she’d put burgundy lipstick on, and her smile curved vivid, luminous, enchanting him.

  “It hurt when they took the stitches out, but not too much. They said I’m healing really well. I’ll show you later when I take the bandage off.” She touched his hand under the table, sending a little thrill racing up his arm. “I ordered you the zucchini pancakes.”

  “Thanks, baby,” Jay said. His right hand touched Paul’s, and then they were holding hands too, all of a sudden, and it felt strange and different but entirely right. A skipped breath, a moment of near panic—no, no one could see under the table. Talk about it, he told himself. Let them know. Always let them know. “I really like holding hands with both of you. Then I think about what other people might think, and then I feel guilty for thinking about it, so it’s sort of an annoying negative feedback loop.” He squeezed Adriana’s precious remaining fingertips, Paul’s strong-boned hand. “But there’s no way in hell I’m going to stop.”

  “Good,” Paul said. “You’re not used to this. None of us are.” Jay imagined he could feel the words humming down their bones, vibrating at a low frequency. Paul’s voice was deep and quiet and very close. “Public perception isn’t very important to me. I don’t mind being the friend.”

  “We were worried about that,” Adriana said. “This last week, I mean, when everyone was staying at our place. But it’s cool you got to meet them all. Jasmine knew and my dad and stepmom didn’t, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You’re pretty smooth.”

  “Smooth,” Jay repeated in agreement, and because he liked the taste of the word.

  “Thank you,” Paul said, smoothly of course.

  “Oh, and Jay—I just got the email. I’m meeting with the lawyer on Tuesday.”

  Paul’s smile disappeared. Jay’s own must have done the same. “I’m coming with you,” he said, a second before Paul did.

  “You can if you want to.” Adriana didn’t seem worried at all. “But it doesn’t matter. Steve isn’t going to be there. He already signed. The medical bills are all on me—well, on us—but nobody’s getting charged with anything. I heard he’s moving out of state, after Wallace put out word on him.”

  Jay sighed in relief. “If he ever comes back—”

  Paul’s grip tightened, not painfully, but like a promise.

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” Adriana warned. “He’s not important. I’m happy today.”

  “Then we should celebrate,” Paul said. “I’m glad everything worked out so well. I’m looking forward to some private time with the two of you. Face to face.”

  A pleasant warmth rose in Jay’s cheeks. He wondered if anyone could tell he was blushing.

  Paul let go of Jay’s hand, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, thick square of paper. He unfolded it over the table, smoothing out the creases to a methodical rhythmic motion and the sound of hush, hush.

  The end result was a little anticlimactic: a travel-site hotel profile printout.

  “Seaside Inn, Laguna Beach,” Adriana read out loud. “Oh, do you want to run away for the night? I do!” Hearing the excitement in her voice made Jay remember how hard she’d worked all their marriage, all the long nights and exhausted mornings, all the missed parties and concerts.

  “We had some plans tonight,” Jay told Paul. “Plans involving you, of course. And, um, face to face time. But we could probably—no, definitely, absolutely move those plans to Laguna Beach.”

  Paul put the paper away. “I’ll confirm the reservation, then.” His smile was hungry, but patient. “It’ll be romantic.”

  God, yes.

  * * *

  Paul stared west, where the rose-gold sun dipped toward the horizon. He was alone. A few hundred feet up the cove, a group of wetsuited divers trudged out of the surf—the size of the land was so immense, and the human presence so small, that they didn’t affect his sense of solitude in the slightest.

  Jay and Adriana had kicked him out of the hotel room, telling him to come back in an hour. Paul usually didn’t like surprises, but he had a feeling he’d like this one.

  The sun flared brighter. A haze in the air must have been swept away. He blinked and looked down into the waves instead to see if he could spot the bobbing dark head of a sea lion. Maybe tomorrow they’d rent snorkeling gear and swim to the kelp beds, let the currents drift them back and forth above the underwater forest like ponderous angels.

  Letting go of architecture had done something irreversible to his sense of self. Letting go had turned him weightless, but not directionless. Jay and Adriana were his compass now. He wasn’t young enough, or romantic enough, to live for them. Living with them, though...yes. Always, yes. Whether he guided them or they guided him, that was what he wanted.

  He was going to change. He was going to let go of everything that didn’t matter, that kept him from living well with them.

  A streamlined form separated from the rocks and streaked into the white surf. Paul focused intently on the area it came from, and soon a whole pride came barreling into the ocean—handsome dark blurs moving supernaturally fast, pale whiskers and obsidian eyes just barely discernible.

  A feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction swelled inside him. He’d seen what he set out for, so he turned to go, and silently wished the sea lions good luck with dinner.

  The walk back to the hotel took the rest of the hour. He smiled and nodded to everyone he passed on the way.

  The Seaside Inn was a small place set high on the slope of a hill, and every one of its units had a view of the Pacific.

  He climbed the stairs to the door, then hesitated a second before knocking. Should he even knock? This wasn’t his space, or their space. It belonged to all of them, and that was something entirely new.

  While he was still musing, Adriana opened the door on him. Her hand shielded her mouth, and her eyes blinked furiously, delicately—they were made up in violet and midnight blue. She didn’t often wear this much makeup. It created a distance between them he immediately wanted to destroy, the recognition of beauty and the urge to violence twining together and punching him right in the gut. The moment shivered with the promise of pure, raw sex. And her tilted cheek of girlish embarrassment only added to that promise.

  She backed into the room without a word. He followed, of course, his thoughts consumed with calculations of exactly how far he could go with Jay present. A little pressing and play at forcing, nothing heavy, just the right amount to please all three of them.

  He took in the ridiculously decadent lingerie she wore—salmon pink with scarlet lace and gold piping—and grinned as he stalked forward. “You look like you stepped
out of a smoky nightclub in 1920s Paris,” he told her. “Do you have something to offer me? Or will I be paying you?”

  The bustier cups pushed her breasts up enticingly, golden flowers appliqued to the rim spilling over onto her creamy skin. A bouquet for his enjoyment. She twisted away, still hiding her mouth behind her hand—the one with the missing finger, and no bandage anymore, but he was so distracted tracing the lush curve of her hips and ass that the difference barely registered. “I have a friend for you tonight,” she said, in a breathy voice that almost broke into a mischievous laugh. “Here she is.”

  A figure dressed in the same sunset colors stepped out of the bathroom.

  Jay.

  Not Jay. Paul’s breath froze in his lungs as he realized what they’d done. Jay as a woman stood next to Adriana, slim hips slightly cocked, the same delicious look of girlish embarrassment on his—her—face. She was exquisite. Long black hair that framed her face in silky waves, huge eyes rimmed in the same violet and midnight blue, aquiline nose, plump lips stained a kissable, lickable dark berry—Paul tried to catalogue and comprehend what made her so newly beautiful and it was fucking impossible. He was too dizzy, too surprised—oh yes, and too hard.

  He took a deep breath as they blinked at him under mascaraed lashes, pretty and passive and waiting for his lead.

  Take it slow.

  Make it last.

  “I like her. She’s shy,” he said directly to Adriana, keeping his voice calm, with a touch of detached amusement. He had his own role to play, after all. “But she’s not frightened, is she? I wouldn’t want her to be frightened.”

  They turned to look into each other’s eyes, his mirror girls. Jay was slender where Adriana wasn’t, with brown skin like a young tree, and the golden flowers on the rim of her bustier falling loosely against breasts that were only the merest suggestion of breasts. Between her legs, no telltale bulge at all, and God, that turned him on more than anything else. Paul stepped closer, until he knew his breath was falling on her along with his shadow.

  Jay shook her head.

  “She’s not frightened,” Adriana murmured. “We’ll do whatever you want. With each other. With you.” Her mouth was unshielded now, berry-colored lips parted and gleaming.

  “Oh, good,” Paul said casually, and touched Jay’s thigh on naked skin, right below the line of the panties. Boundary lines were always sensitive places. A small, choked sound came from Jay’s mouth in response, very satisfying. Paul trailed his fingers upward, to the hot triangle where her thighs met. Pink satin fabric, stretched taut—he massaged back and forth there, gently mapping the new flesh, this lovingly crafted artificial cunt.

  Jay shifted, thighs softening and parting to allow more touch. The contrast between demure, downcast eyes and willing body was beginning to drive Paul slightly insane.

  “How does it feel?” Paul asked. He parted his fingers and massaged the two areas where Jay must have pushed his balls back up into his body, then taped them in place. “Uncomfortable? Interesting?”

  “Both,” Jay whispered, not trying for a female voice but still sounding like Paul’s personal erotic androgynous dream-toy. “I’m okay. You can fuck me like this, if you want. I can’t come.”

  “Because it’s not about you tonight, darling,” Paul mused, still stroking, absorbing the feel. “You’ll do whatever I want, and like it.” Jay nodded in agreement, and something inside Paul broke just then—not that he wanted to abandon this spellbinding game, but he couldn’t keep on like this, not without...not without...

  They had to know.

  “Thank you,” he said, and stroked Adriana’s hip with his left hand, claiming her as well. “Thank you for this. I love you, both of you. Now I’m going to step back and pretend I’m getting off on a girl-on-girl fantasy, but before that, I just needed you to know. Underneath all the games, and always, I love you.”

  “I was hoping you’d want us to do the girl-on-girl thing,” Jay said, and smiled. “Got it, straight dude.”

  “We love you too,” Adriana said, her voice high and sweet and without any trace of sadness.

  Paul stepped back and beckoned them toward the bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’m afraid.

  Adriana fought back the fear. You’ve gone too far, too fast—you don’t deserve this, the poisonous voice whispered. You failed. You’re nothing special. Nothing at all.

  The high heels fell from her feet as she crawled onto the bed. The satiny quilt skimming against her silk stockings heightened her consciousness of her skin, of surfaces. That was where she wanted to live, and feel, and abandon herself—not the depths of self-doubt.

  Jay, following her, gathered back her hair. His fingernails were painted the same burgundy as hers, and she felt their slickness briefly pass against the sensitive skin of her neck. That was all it took for the moment of fear to vanish, to push her across the sensual tipping point. Jay was making sure Paul could see her. Using her to satisfy his lover...and she loved to be used, oh God, it was a sick and beautiful thing.

  She lay on her side and turned back toward Jay, angling herself so that Paul could see her as well. Touched her hip. Parted her thighs, not too widely—an invitation, not a demand. “Is this good?” she asked both of them, very softly.

  Jay seemed so strange and remote. She couldn’t think of him as a woman or as a man, but some kind of fallen angel, an androgynous divinity. At least the look of compassion in his art-enhanced eyes was utterly human and familiar and comforting. “Yes,” he said, and mirrored her pose, sweeping his gaze down her body then back up his own, making minute adjustments that sent out little satin-skimming sounds, every sound sending a shiver up the inside of her legs. “Do you want us to kiss?” he added, looking into Adriana’s eyes but speaking to Paul.

  “Please,” Paul said. “Very lightly, though. And slowly.”

  She sensed him moving at the foot of the bed. It was a generous king-sized bed, the perfect stage for him to pose them and play with them.

  She leaned toward Jay as he leaned toward her. They paused for a while, lips almost touching, inhaling each other’s breath, anticipating the last sensation so that they’d savor it all the more.

  Their lips touched.

  Light. Skimming. Slick lipstick. Making love to a woman—something twisted inside her at the thought, gone wrong but in a right way, new and pleasurable.

  No. This wasn’t—

  Jay’s tongue lapped against the inside of her bottom lip, and any attempt at analyzing what this meant for her sexuality failed entirely, because fuck she wanted someone all the way inside her now, so badly she was fucking dying for it. A high, needy note vibrated from her throat, and she was suddenly strangely proud of how shameless she sounded—yes, Paul would like it, very much.

  And Paul sighed with what seemed like profound satisfaction. “Good girls,” he said. “Adriana, touch her pussy now.”

  She touched Jay between his legs, cupping him. He fit smoothly in her hand. She knew his cock was pushed and taped back, had seen him do it, but the smoothness still shocked her. Loving Jay’s cock so much and having it denied to her—denied to him, as well—was an erotic symbol, present in its absence, drawing her toward him. She imagined pushing the panties down, sinking her middle finger into soft lips, like a wet silk flower...

  It was Jay’s turn to sing out, just as high as Adriana had.

  When she moved her thigh between Jay’s thighs, she wasn’t sure who she was pleasing: Jay, Paul, herself. It felt good to spread his legs, to touch skin against skin, to slide stocking against stocking with a wicked hissing whisper. He was warm and opened to her so happily that she almost forgot her hunger to be filled.

  “That’s it,” Paul said. “Would you fuck her for me, Adriana? I’d like to see that.”

  “Anything for you,” she si
ghed out, and breathed in Jay, who was familiar and new at the same time, a paradox of desire.

  “I know you don’t get as much out of topping,” Paul said, gone analytical in that way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. “But do your best for me. I’ll give you what you need, eventually.”

  Jay moved beneath her, arching up into her hand and against her thigh, fluttering gorgeous long lashes—she’d pasted them on him herself, tracing the delicate curve of his eyelids. “We put some toys on the nightstand,” he murmured.

  “I see.” Paul stepped up and padded to the nightstand, and the thrill of anticipation—what would he choose for her?—made her remember the night he’d held them equally in his hands, claiming and promising. She’d enjoy this, transforming herself to suit Paul’s appetites. It was just another way to become, for a giddy stretch of time, his toy.

  “I’m going to like this,” she said, looking straight into Jay’s unguarded, unfocused eyes. “More than I ever have before. I’m going to make it good and hard for you, baby.”

  “Do it.” Jay curved his head back, baring his throat to her. She licked up and down the tender skin there, easing her hunger with the faint taste of salt. “I want you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, then fell into a faster rhythm, just like that night when it all started, sharing refuge in a tiny rundown motel room in Anaheim and playing until the game took them over and played them instead. She’d never felt so lost, so powerless, so loved—and Jay was right there with her, feeling the same. He’d told her so.

  Paul touched her hips. She took his guidance as if she were made for him. Or maybe he was making her, molding her, through the sheer pressure of his touch, his large warm hands enclosing her in a pleasurable vise.

  “Up a bit,” he said. She raised herself to straddle Jay. There was a dense foam mattress under the honey-beige duvet. Her knees sank in a few inches and were held there comfortably. God, the luxury of it—no harsh soundtrack of squeaking coils, just the music of soft breathing, moans, words half sighed, the glissading slide of textures.