by JA Huss
I walk back to my chair and sit. Let out a long breath of air and look Alexander dead in the eyes. “This is who you are?”
He shrugs and breaks off a small piece of the roll on his plate. I glance at Augustine, who is watching him, not me, and then I look back at Alexander to find him spreading butter on the bite-sized piece of bread. He puts it in his mouth and chews, watching me thoughtfully, the anger—or whatever you call that emotion inside him he just showed us—gone.
“If you can’t handle it, we’ll understand,” Alexander says.
Once again, I find myself looking to Augustine for… something. Clarification or, I dunno, something. “Do you like this?” I ask her.
She nods. Then clears her throat. “I love it, Jordan. And he won’t do it anymore.”
“Why?” I ask, sensing there’s more to that. “Why did he stop?” She just shakes her head so I look to him. “Did you hurt her? Crossed a line and then promised never to do it again?”
He shrugs. “You’re perceptive,” he says. “Which, I suppose, is why she trusts you.”
“How bad did you hurt her?” I ask. I feel hot all of a sudden. Anger coursing through my body. “Break her arm? Give her a black eye? Rape her?”
“Come on,” Alexander says. “I love her. I wouldn’t do any of that.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Jordan,” Augustine says. “Let’s talk about that later. Let’s just—”
I stand up, pounding the table with both hands. Augustine startles, jumping with the silverware. “Tell me,” I growl. “Or I’ll walk out right now. I won’t participate in bullshit like this. I won’t become you, Alexander.”
“That’s precisely the point,” Augustine says. Too loud. Not a yell or shout, but too loud. “You’re not him. You’ll never be him,” she snaps.
And for some reason I take that as an insult. That he is somehow better than me. This asshole who likes to hit her to get off is better than me.
And she allows it. She wants it. He stopped and she dragged him here. Made him leave LA and come to Denver to find me. So they can continue this… this sick version of love they’ve cultivated since I left.
“Look,” Alexander says. “I can’t help what I like. I’m sorry I ever started doing it with her. Because—”
“Because I love it,” Augustine says. “It’s fantasy. It’s pretend, Jordan. You of all people, the fucking game master himself, should be able to see this for what it is. A game.”
“A lifestyle,” I correct her. “This isn’t a game. This is a top-bottom lifestyle.”
“Not really,” Alexander says, then takes a sip of wine. He swallows, puts his glass down, and then continues. “Because I don’t want her to submit to me. I want her to fight me.”
My brain is on fire, doing an internal search for a memory of any such game. I cannot recall ever hearing about this. “Who gets to win?” I ask. Because it matters. And I need to make sense of this.
“We both win,” Augustine says. “When the game is over and we’re satisfied and happy.”
“So… so you don’t want to be tied down and… you know. Kinda forced?”
“No,” Augustine says.
“And you don’t want to force her?”
“God, no. It’s not a rape fantasy.”
“But you want her to fight you?”
“Yes. But she won’t fight back,” Alexander says.
“If I fight back, he stops,” Augustine says.
“Because I lose control,” he clarifies. “And I don’t want to lose control.”
“OK.” I put up a hand. “Hold on here. You want her to fight you?” I look at Alexander and he nods. “You refuse to fight back.” I point to Augustine.
“Because he’ll stop,” she says again. “I will fight back,” she says, looking at Alexander. “But only if we keep going and see it through to the end.”
I think about this as we all sit in silence. Then I say, “I have to admit, you guys, I’ve never heard of this one. I… I don’t think it has a name. I’m gonna have to get some advice first. I can’t—”
“No,” Augustine says. This time it’s her pounding her fists on the table, making the silverware jump. “No. Tonight.”
“Tonight? No. Fuck that. I… I… I don’t even know what this is.”
“Well,” Alexander says, placing his napkin on his plate. “We can show you.”
They get up at the same time. Eyes locked. And they nod.
And once again I get that feeling about them. That they are truly connected. That they know each other so well.
He walks over to her and says, “You invited this asshole into our house?” Before she can answer he slaps her across the face again.
This time Augustine is instantly breathing heavy. Like that excites her. Which is normal, I’ve seen that before.
But then… but then her arm is in motion, her hand connects with his face, and her slap is much louder than his.
He grabs her wrists and I’m on my feet. My heart pounding too, my head spinning at what I’m about to witness. He pushes her backwards until she bumps into the back of the couch. He pushes her again, hard, and she falls backwards, legs in the air. Alexander has his hands up inside her dress, pulling on her panties. She either lets him get them off, or it’s possible he’s just that quick, I’m not sure. But as soon as her panties go flying over his shoulder, she connects a flat-footed kick to his chest.
I know that hurts. I can feel it from here.
He grabs her legs, spreading them open. Augustine is still upended. Head and shoulders on the couch cushions, knees bent over the back of the couch, Alexander’s hands on her ankles.
She begins to kick and grunt, but he reaches down and grabs her long hair with both hands, pulling her back up so she’s now sitting on the back of the couch, her eyes level with his chest.
Her fingers go to his shirt, ripping it open. Buttons go flying and Alexander tries to back away, but she holds tight, refusing to let him.
I’m… I dunno the word for it. Stunned? Mesmerized?
“That’s enough,” he says. “That’s enough.”
“No,” Augustine begs. She’s on her feet, still holding the two flapping ends of his open shirt. Leaning up on her tiptoes, trying to kiss him.
He shakes his head, pries her hands off him, and then backs away, breathing heavy and hard as he turns to me. “There,” he says. “That should give you an idea.”
“Don’t stop!” Augustine says. “Come on! He’s here. He’s—”
“He’s got no fucking clue, August!” Alexander practically shouts. It’s loud enough to stop her begging. She lets go of his shirt and sits down on the back of her couch, twirling her body so she can flop down onto the cushions.
“Uh…” I say.
“Yeah,” Alexander says, taking off his suit coat and throwing it over a dining room chair. He takes off his shirt too. And I get a little stuck on the perfectly sculpted physique of his chest.
“Ahh,” I try again. “I think you two are fucking crazy.”
“Fuck you,” Augustine spits. But she’s not looking at me. She’s truly pissed off this… whatever it was just ended.
Alexander looks at me, then shrugs. Like he’s with me, but… a girl wants what she wants. And, well, what can you do?
Get another crazy player is their answer, I guess. “Look, you guys. I don’t think—”
“Then get out,” Augustine snarls.
But when I look at Alexander he gives me a little shake of his head. Like… maybe this is all part of the game?
I suddenly understand how Issy Grey felt when I set her up in a game she didn’t ask to play. I might need a poster slogan to help me make sense of this.
At the very least, I need to talk to Lucinda. And Chella. Because… oh, yeah. This is one for the books.
And then he… he mouths something. “What?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes at me. Then mouths it again. Slower. Exaggerated. Fuck her.
&n
bsp; Fuck her… like she can fuck off? Or he’s telling me to fuck his wife?
“I need to go.”
“Jordan!” Augustine says, scrambling to her knees and peeking her head over the couch. “No. Stay. Come on. You know this interests you. You know you and I have something good. And you and Alexander—”
I shake my head. “No… I don’t think—”
But then… somehow… Alexander has crossed the room and he’s right up next to me. His bare chest pressing against mine as he leans in, grabs my face, and kisses me.
I’m so surprised I can’t even decide what I should do about this. Like… pull away? Or kiss him back? And then Augustine is sliding under Alexander’s arm, inserting herself between us.
“Don’t leave now,” she says, her hands on Alexander’s, which are still holding my face. She leans up on her tiptoes and begins kissing us. Both of us, as he kisses me and…
Jesus. I should walk. I’ve done so well so far. Keeping my distance from this train wreck of a relationship.
But her hand is on my cock and… and when I break away, out of the kiss, and look down, her hand is on his cock too.
And isn’t this what I’ve wanted? Maybe not them, but this?
I don’t have time to think it through.
Augustine crouches down, her legs spread open, her fingers deftly unbuttoning and unzipping my pants. And then she’s got both our cocks fisted in her palms. Stroking us. Up and down and squeezing tight.
Alexander grabs her hair, pulling it hard. But when I look at him, his eyes are closed. And I know… God, I just fucking know… he’s not paying attention anymore. Not like he was during their little demonstration.
And it has become my job to keep him in check.
The moment Augustine’s mouth wraps around the head of his cock, he pushes her towards him. His hips rocking forward, making her take him deep. She gags and tries to pull back, but he holds her there. She lets go of my dick, reaches up for his forearm, and claws her fingernails down his skin.
Alexander hisses and pulls back, which allows Augustine to pivot and concentrate on me.
Oh, God. Her mouth on my tip feels excruciatingly good. And when she opens wide and puts me inside her… the warm and the wet… and the sucking…
And then Alexander is there, kneeling down behind her, his hand in her hair again, pushing her into me now.
Making her take me.
Making her gag on me.
And for a split second I don’t see what he’s doing. I don’t realize what he’s doing. I am too fully encapsulated in lust and desire to realize he’s dragging me over to his side. Distracting me from my job by letting his wife pleasure me.
“Stop,” I say, my voice hoarse.
But when I look at him he just smiles. Shakes his head a little. And then he kisses me.
I forget about August. Just… I don’t know. Just let her drift away. Her mouth, my cock deep in her throat. The warm saliva pooling up against my shaft as Alexander reaches underneath my balls and cups them in his hand.
Holy fucking—
And then he punches me.
Right in the fucking mouth.
I snap.
Out of the lust. Out of the passion. Out of the desire.
And I back away, my cock slipping from Augustine’s mouth as I swing and hit him back.
He ducks and rushes me, barreling into my chest until I reel backwards, slamming into a wall, just barely able to stop myself from falling.
They approach me. Slowly, as a team. Like two lions looking for a kill.
“What the fuck?” I ask. But when he’s within reach, I swing again, and this time… this time that motherfucker goes down.
I climb on top of him, my cock swinging, my pants around my knees, and then his hand finds my dick, and Augustine is crouching, her pussy right over his face.
And I’m ashamed to admit this, even just to myself… but I swear to God this is hot. I’m turned on. Like rock-hard cock.
I go down on him. My mouth taking him, pressing forward the way he just showed me he likes it. Augustine is bending over a little, her ass right in front of me, his fingers probing between her legs, stroking her as she moves back and forth, fucking his face.
I pull her backward, roughly—too roughly and I’ll have to think about that later, because there’s no room for that now—making her squeal. I scoot her ass down until she’s right over Alexander’s dick and after that, she doesn’t need any more hints.
She sits down on his cock, her back arched, practically begging me to pull her hair.
So I do. And when I pull too hard, she twists around, reaching back to slap my face. I swat her hand away and push her forward until she falls onto Alexander’s chest.
I lean down, swipe my tongue around the rim of her ass, then spit and massage it in with my fingertips. I scoot up, Alexander’s leg between mine, my balls dragging across his thighs, and push my cock inside her.
“Oh,” she moans. “Oh, oh, oh….”
We are sweaty. Hot and slick. Alexander stops to let me find my way past his huge cock already inside her, and then we both begin. Slowly. Just small pushes and pulls. Barely moving.
Augustine is making noises I’ve never heard before. Not even when we used to do this all those years ago. I grab her hair, pull her up off his chest, forcing her to arch her back, and then wrap my other hand around her throat so I can hold her in place so I can kiss her and fuck her at the same time.
She comes.
There’s no way she can’t.
This is what she wants. What she’s been missing.
This is why I’m necessary.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I didn’t stay the night. I probably should’ve. Might’ve even enjoyed it, but staying the night is a big step forward and I’m not sure I want to move forward.
This completes them, fine. But what’s it do for me? Aside from make my life more complicated?
I mean look, these two people are married. They don’t want to get a divorce. They’re so committed to each other they have decided adding a third is the only way to save what they have.
That’s their goal.
Augustine has already tried to call me several times this morning and I’ve let them all go to voicemail. And I’m not at home or work, so she can’t pop up and find me. At least not yet.
I just need some space to try to figure out if I want to participate. I need to think. I need…
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. It’s probably them, so when I take out my phone and check the screen, I’m pleasantly surprised to see Ixion’s name come up.
“Ix,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Hey, you free right now? Or you busy?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking.”
Fucking Ixion. “Sure. What do ya need?”
“Meet me at the Mile High Cafe in half an hour.” And then the call ends with three quick beeps.
Hmmm. What’s this about?
I’m sitting in a booth on the second floor of the Barrister Club. I’m not a paying member, but I’m on my father’s list of permanent guests. And it’s a great place to hide when you don’t want to be disturbed. Plus, it’s right across the street from the courthouse, so it’s the perfect place to go between court cases and, as a bonus, the Mile High Cafe is like a five-minute walk from here.
Which gives me plenty of time to sit and stew on this impromptu phone call from Ixion. Lots of time to wonder what he’s up to. Did Augustine call him? Tell him what we did last night? Is he going to warn me? Or scold me? Or tell me to back away?
I have no clue. But I can picture him doing all three, so…
When I get to the cafe Ixion already has a table near the back. So I point to him when the hostess asks me for my name. This place is crazy busy at lunch and there is almost always a wait if you’re not just picking up an order.
I weave my way through the tables and take the seat across from him, thankful for the
ceiling fan directly above us, because today is just a little bit too warm.
Ixion looks good. More like himself than I’ve seen him in almost a decade. He played a game a few months ago. Well, that’s not technically true. I hired him to do surveillance on a woman named Evangeline Rolaine. A crazy violin child prodigy who couldn’t perform on stage anymore because the thought of being watched terrified her. Her therapist, Lucinda Chatwell, set this game up, so it was more like treatment than a game.
Until Ixion fucked it all up, that is.
But hey, he fixed her. And they’re still together so I count that as a win.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Question for you,” Ixion says.
“A question? Why didn’t you just ask me on the phone?”
“Because I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks and I wanted to check in.”
“You’re worried about me?” I ask, unable to hide my smile or the chuckle that comes out with it.
“A little bit,” he says, holding his thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart. “But first… you still have access to that house?”
“Which one? The mansion next to the gardens?”
“Yeah, the one we played our game in.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda… living there at the moment.”
“Oh,” he says, considering this. Ixion is a fuck-hot dude. I’m kinda into dudes. Not all the way into dudes, but I appreciate the addition of another guy in a relationship. Which is why Augustine and Alexander came to me, right?
Well, anyway. Ixion is hot. He’s got a nice build. One of those tough guys who wears jeans and t-shirts and rides a motorcycle. But the guy is fucking loaded. His family was killed in a car crash years ago, right after all that shit went down in LA, so he inherited everything. I don’t even know how much money this guy actually has because he never talks about it. Never spends it either. At least not on himself. And it occurs to me… “Why?” I ask. “You wanna buy it?”
Ixion chews his lip like he’s not sure. And then he says, “Maybe. I’m not sure. Evangeline is sorta fixated on it.”
“Oh,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Fixated how?”
“Like… she can’t stop talking about that family, ya know? All those photographs and stuff. She keeps bugging me to ask you who they are.”
