Play Dirty

by JA Huss

  I stare back at her. My eyes searching hers as they dart back and forth.

  “He won’t… engage,” she finally says.

  “Engage?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

  “With me. That’s why he won’t fuck me.”

  “I don’t understand. He’s afraid of… oh, fuck. He’s afraid of losing control?”

  Augustine swallows hard again and nods her head. “Yes. He did scare me once. I… I got lost in the scene, ya know? It all became too real and… I dunno, I freaked out. And ever since then he’s refused to fuck me.”

  I just stare at her.

  “It’s been almost three years, Jordan. We almost divorced over it.”

  “Because he hurt you?” I ask.

  “No,” she insists. “He didn’t hurt me. He just scared me. And it was so fast, ya know? That line between fantasy and reality was so thin at that point, I just… I didn’t know what to do, and I started crying and shaking and… and it was bad.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, OK? We’d agreed on the scene before we played it out. I knew what was happening. And I don’t know why I didn’t use my safe word, but I didn’t.”

  “Shit,” I say. Because I don’t know what else to say.

  “And it’s been hard, OK? I’m not going to lie. I love him. I really do. I do not want to divorce my husband. I love him. But he doesn’t trust himself. He won’t do any of the things we used to enjoy anymore. Just refuses,” she says.

  “So…” Jesus Christ. I’m trying to wrap my head around this and it’s not easy. “So you need me to… what?”

  She shrugs. A big one that lasts too long. Her shoulders hunched up near her ears, her mouth pressed together, eyes on me. “We need a third, Jordan. Or we won’t survive. He wants you to make sure he stays in line. He won’t ever fuck me again unless we can find a third.”

  “Did you… look for others?”

  “Of course,” she says. “We didn’t just throw away our lives in LA and come here without trying everything we could think of first. Of course we tried. But he’s so…” She holds up her hands, palms out, like she doesn’t know what to say. “He’s so strong, Jordan. The other men, they couldn’t control him. Or at least he felt they couldn’t. He didn’t trust himself. But you. You can, Jordan. You’re the only one who can.”

  “Wow,” I say after several seconds of silence. “OK. You got me. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “I’m begging you, OK?” She grabs onto my upper arm and leans in to me. “Begging. You. To just try. For a few weeks, that’s it. And then if you want, I’ll sell you the building. No matter what. If this works or doesn’t. I will sell you the building. I just… I don’t want to give up on him yet. I love him, Jordan. And we both still love you. We’ve moved past all our mistakes.”

  Which makes me huff out a laugh. Because it suddenly makes so much sense. “I guess you’d have to, right? Move past, I mean. Since apparently I’m the only hope you have.”

  “That’s not why,” she says. “I do forgive you. It was all… stupid and childish—”

  “No,” I say, cutting her off. “It wasn’t. Not to Ix it wasn’t. I fucked up his life pretty bad and—”

  “You didn’t kill his family, Jordan. It was—”

  “Just stop, OK? I’m not that dumb. I don’t feel responsible for a fucking car accident. But the fact that he was in jail when it happened, that his family all died that day thinking he was something he wasn’t, thinking he was me, that was my fault. And look, I’m grateful that he’s still in town. That he’s…” I have to stop and reword my thoughts. Because we’re not really friends again. “That he’s considering the possibility that we might be friends again.”

  “I’ve talked to him. Several times actually since we came to Denver. He was reluctant with me. Like… he just wanted to leave me in the past. But you… not you, Jordan. And he’s definitely forgiven you. Whatever it is you’ve been doing over the past several months with these games—he won’t tell me specifics—well, it’s made him pause and think hard about what we all lost back in LA. And what we could have again. How life could be better if we were all back together again.”

  “He’s not going to play this game with us, I can tell you that right now. He’s happy.”

  “Not the sex part. The friendship part. And it’s not a game,” she says, staring at me intently. “I’m not asking you for a game, Jordan. This is real. What I need from you is real. And if you decide it’s not how you saw yourself, this type of relationship isn’t for you, well, then fine. Alexander and I will… whatever. But I hope you’ll at least take it seriously while we’re trying. It’s not a game. If one of us loses, we all lose. Those are the stakes. That’s how it has to be.”

  She looks very sad tonight. Defeated. And that’s not a word I’d ever use to describe Augustine before she came back into my life. So I don’t bother telling her the truth. She doesn’t want to hear it.

  But I know how this will end. The same way it always ends when I enter a plural relationship. Broken in pieces.

  “Did you even care about me?”

  “Of course,” I say. “Of course I did. Why the fuck do you think I went to such lengths? I mean… yes. Just yes.”

  “But you don’t anymore?”

  “It’s not… just. Fuck. I’ve just moved on, that’s all. And I don’t want to look back. It was a bad time in my life. I wasn’t proud of myself. I was… what I did was just shameful. You two are part of that, through no fault of your own, but you are.”

  “Well, thanks a lot,” she says.

  “I don’t mean it like that. It was my shame, not yours. Not ours, either. I don’t feel any shame for that.”

  I’m not sure that’s a hundred percent true. Back then, anyway. Now, who gives a fuck? I have my friends. I have my place in the world. But back then I didn’t. I was still looking for it.

  “I felt a lot of things, Augustine. Too many. Too much, maybe.”

  “But?”

  “But they’re gone now.”

  Lies. I tell as many as they do.

  They’re not gone. Not completely. It’s hard to put it behind me because her pull, it was strong then and it’s still strong now.

  She reads me. Knows me too well. I can’t hide the thoughts in my head. Not from her. Because a moment later she’s climbing into my lap, her face buried in my neck, her lips on my skin, nipping and kissing and biting me just the way she used to.

  “Stop,” I say.

  “No,” she whispers. “I want you.” She places both palms on my face and looks me in the eyes. “I want you. Please don’t send me away tonight. Let me stay. Let me put you inside me. Please.”

  I say nothing. Unsure what the protocol is for something like this.

  Please, she silently mouths.

  I take out my phone and hold it out to her. “Call and ask him,” I say. Because I want to fuck her and I can’t. Not unless he says yes.

  “Come on,” she says. “You don’t need to ask permission. That’s the whole point, Jordan. That you take what you want and keep him in line. Don’t give him power.”

  “It’s… cheating,” I say.

  “It’s not cheating. You two will talk it out tomorrow. I don’t know what he’ll say to you, because he’s unpredictable like that. He never plays along the way he’s supposed to. But tomorrow night the three of us will be doing this together. Just… don’t give him any power. Please,” she whispers again. “Fuck me.”

  I’m not normally someone who runs. OK? I’m not. And I’m not normally a man who wants a woman who isn’t his. That’s not me. And I’m not a guy who fucks a married woman. Ever.

  Unless I have permission, of course.

  Augustine is tugging on my suit coat. Pulling it down my arms. I lean forward and help her take it off me. She’s squirming in my lap, driving me a little crazy as I think about whether or not I actually have permission.

  But then her fingers are loo
sening my tie. I stare up at her pretty face. Her smooth, glowing skin. She was pale when she came in out of the rain but now, charged up with the warmth of my clothes, and my blanket, and my body, she’s almost flushed.

  She unbuttons the shirt slowly.

  And each time her fingernails brush against my bare chest I come up with a new reason to justify this behavior.

  He’s part of the plan.

  He has to know she’s here.

  Hell, he was trying to fuck me earlier tonight.

  It’s all good…

  Augustine opens my shirt and bends her back, so her head can bow down and her lips can kiss my stomach.

  Holy fuck. I forgot how good she was.

  My hands find a place on the top of her head, pressing her down as I raise up my hips.

  She looks up at me from under her hair—knowing I’m not going to stop her—and smiles as she scoots off the couch, kneels down between my legs, and places her mouth over my hardened cock, licking it through my pants.

  “You know,” she says, pausing to look up at me again. She bites her lip. And damn, that alone might make me come. “If he were here he’d suck your cock too.”

  She whispers that last part. Like it’s a secret.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, picturing Alexander back when we used to fuck her together. “He was never really into me. He was into you and me. That’s all.”

  “But you’re in charge now, Jordan. You could… make him.”

  Imagining Alexander sucking me off with her, at the same time… OK. Yeah. I could get on board with that. But the part that really turns me on is telling him to do it.

  I scoot down a little, wanting to lie back. Augustine has my pants unbuttoned and her hands reaching in for my cock.

  She grabs it. Squeezes it tight. My hips rise up automatically. Urging her to give me more.

  I don’t want to fuck around, I just want to fuck. I want her to suck my dick for a couple minutes and then I want to bend her over the couch and take her the way Alexander wouldn’t.

  She obviously has other ideas. Because her tongue slowly extends from between her wet lips and flicks against the tip of my head. Teasing me. Back and forth until I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and force her head down. Force her to take me inside her mouth. All the way to the back of her throat.

  Augustine is a sexual being. Has always been that way. And she takes this challenge seriously. She opens up, allows me to place her as deep as I want, muscles in her throat seizing up, gag reflex engaged… but she does not pull away.

  Saliva spills down her chin and pools onto my skin where my shaft meets my balls. I close my eyes, enjoying that feeling. How it drips over my balls.

  And picture Alexander doing this to me instead of her.

  How far would he take me in his throat? How far would he let me push him? How far would he go before he said no?

  I’ve always been into men. Not all men, but some. Like Bric. Like Ixion, even though he never returned those feelings. And Alexander. I never liked him, but I did like what we did in private with Augustine. And back in LA there were many nights I fell asleep masturbating to what it would feel like to have him suck my cock.

  Now I’m going to get my chance.

  He’s here, not because he wants me. But because he wants her. And all those things he never wanted to do before could be the first way I challenge him.

  I groan and say, “Stop,” as my hands reach out, lift the t-shirt over her head, and grab her tits so hard, she gasps. “Take off those shorts and sit in my lap.”

  She smiles. And that smile is filled with approval, and submission, and promises of many more things to come.

  I watch her, my fist pumping up and down my shaft, as she wiggles the shorts over her hips and lets them fall to the floor at her feet.

  One knee on one side. Other knee on other side. And then her soft, wet pussy is touching my cock.

  Her hands go to my shoulders. Her gaze locked on mine. She digs her fingernails into my flesh as her hips begin to move back and forth along my dick.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” I say.

  And then I stand up, walk her over to the window, press her back against it as she hikes her legs up to let me grab her behind the knee—and that’s exactly what I do.

  I fuck her standing up, her back pressed against the window. My pants fall over my hips and fall to my knees where they get stuck.

  I fuck her, half undressed, soft light filtering in from the outdoor landscape lighting. Illuminating her back. Making her skin shimmer like some unearthly fantasy sex goddess.

  She is moaning as I thrust forward and back. Deep, deep inside her, then almost to the point of pulling out.

  She’s moaning, “More, deeper, faster, harder,” to the rhythm of my thrusts.

  But I don’t give her what she wants.

  Because I don’t have to.

  She has put me in charge.

  She should’ve thought about that more carefully, because I really, really like to be in charge.

  And yeah, I’ll make sure Alexander doesn’t cross his line.

  But right now… he’s not here to make sure I don’t cross mine.

  I spin around, take her over to the couch, kicking off my shoes and letting my pants fall away as I walk.

  Throw her down, hair falling over her face.

  Grab her by the hips, flip her over.

  Push her face first into the cushion, hold her there until she stops squealing.

  And then I lift her hips up, slap her inner thighs to make her open her legs, and smack both hands down on her ass cheeks with a loud crack.

  “Oh,” she cries.

  There are perfect, red handprints on her skin.

  I slap her again. Same exact place.

  “Oh, God,” she cries, this time between clenched teeth.

  Then again, even harder.

  “Ow,” she screams.

  I grab her hair and pull it, yanking her neck back and turning her head so she has to look at me. “Is this what you want?” I ask. “You want me to be in charge of you and your husband?”

  “Yes,” she moans. “Yes. Please. Fuck me! Fuck me!”

  It’s almost not fair. For like one-eighth of a second I think that. It’s almost not fair. Because he hasn’t fucked her in so long, she doesn’t care what I do right now.

  She just wants my cock inside her. Pounding her into climax.

  And besides, who cares?

  Who fucking cares about fair?

  I stick two fingers inside her, taking this cue directly from watching Alexander last weekend. And then I pump her hard and fast with them. In and out, back and forth across her pussy.

  She squirts immediately.

  And I laugh.

  A loud, possibly insane laugh.

  Because I have the power.

  Because they gave it to me.

  Because I know her body and her mind.

  Because I will abuse everything about this situation.

  I am, and have always been the bad guy in this relationship. We all know this.

  If that’s what they want, that’s who they’ll get.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Oh, my God,” she screams as she squirts. “Yes!”

  You know, the usual stuff. None of it impresses me. I mean, I like fucking her. Her body is quite nice, her breasts large enough to look good in plunging-neckline shirts and dresses. They are like ripe fruit. Honeydew. Something so pretty and smooth, you can’t help but touch it.

  Her nipples are tight and two shades darker than her skin. Peaked up like little monuments. A testament to how much she’s enjoying this.

  “I want you inside me,” she moans.

  I’m sure she does.

  “More. Again. More.” She’s begging me. How long has Alexander been priming her to get this kind of… sexual desperation?

  And it’s not like he doesn’t get her off, he just doesn’t give her cock.

  “Does he stick things inside y
ou?” I whisper, my fingers slower now. So she can think about this.

  “What?”

  “Things, Augustine. Long, hard things to make you think about the cock you’re not allowed to have.”

  “Uh… no,” she whimpers. “No. But I want more right now, Jordan. Just please. Don’t play with me. Just give something freely for once.”

  I huff a small amount of air through my nose to simulate a laugh. “This is your game, remember? Not mine.”

  She exhales. Meets my gaze. Holds it for several seconds. With difficulty. Because I’m still fingering her. Still making her crazy. “You can write the rules,” she says, her voice trembling. “I don’t care. You can make all the rules you want. Tomorrow. Just give me what I need tonight.”

  I pull my fingers out and she bites her lip, whimpering. “No.”

  But I just smile. “I’m on board with this plan,” I say. “But I’m not going to make it easy for him. Or you,” I add. Because I’m feeling generous and that bit of truth is a gift. So she can prepare herself for what will happen.

  She frowns.

  “I might fuck you again tonight,” I say, throwing her a bone. “But I want to do something else first.”

  “What? What do you want to do?”

  I smile as I reach down, find my phone in my pants pocket, and pull up the camera. “Let’s make some evidence, Augustine.”

  And then I laugh. Because that expression on her face is funny.

  “What?”

  “A little video for your husband.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because if I were him it would piss me off. Especially since he’s the one who wanted to play the game.”

  She starts to turn around and face me. “We don’t need—” But I yank her hair and push her face into the couch back.

  “Stay right where you are,” I say. “I wasn’t really asking your permission, Augustine. I was telling you what comes next.”

  It occurs to me then… I should make them sign a contract. There’s so many ways for this to get messy. And I am nothing if not a great lawyer.