One Too Many

by Jade West

  “Just like that?” he asked, still seething hard. “You’re really going to abandon your jock attitude to make sure your pretty wife gets her fill? I doubt that very much.”

  Another shrug came so naturally. “Doubt it all you like, it’s the truth.”

  “And what do you get out of it?”

  My smile was all for her, even though her eyes were on him. “The same thing you do, a beautiful woman taking her fill. Don’t tell me you don’t want her. I’ll believe some of your posh boy bullshit, but not that.”

  He didn’t look convinced as he dropped down onto the mattress. He looked at her for a long while, his cock hard against his thigh as that chess master brain of his ticked through his moves.

  “This isn’t over,” he told me. “We’ll take a rematch.”

  “Temporary truce,” I said.

  And there it was again, whatever festering resentment he held towards me burning bright in his eyes before he gave a nod. I pushed it aside as Grace squirmed in my arms.

  “A truce sounds good,” she told us, tipping her head back to greet me with a smile.

  That smile settled everything. I’d call a truce for a thousand years if it brought even half of that smile to her lips.

  I shifted away from her, leaving her exposed between us, and this time there wasn’t so much as a hint of nerves in her posture, her limbs wide and welcoming as she beckoned him to close the distance. It perplexed him, his whole body tensing as he weighed her up.

  “If this is some stupid conspiratorial game at my expense–” he began, and it made me sigh.

  “Don’t judge everyone else by your own fucked-up standards, Heath. Not everything is at someone else’s expense. This isn’t your London city bullshit here.”

  “Everything is always at someone else’s expense,” he told me, but moved all the same.

  He looked different this time, his actions less aggressive as he closed the distance between him and my wife. His hands were solid but not as assured as they reached for her. She moulded into him perfectly. Effortless as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and urged him down onto her.

  “I want you both,” she whispered. “Both at once.”

  The idea of the close proximity to another man’s nakedness brought a shiver down my spine, but my dick was still pulsing unperturbed. He slid into her pussy in one deep thrust, taking her leg and hoisting it high. I watched as an onlooker without the sheen of bitterness, absorbed fully by the sight of him balls deep inside the sweet little cunt I’d called mine for a lifetime, the surrealism addictive as she coaxed him for more.

  It was late. The night gobbling us up with its quiet mystery. I let myself sink into it, thumbing my balls idly as I contemplated a potential week of this and everything it would bring.

  Her hands were all over his back as he found his stride and fucked her hard. He buried his face in her neck and kissed her like he meant it, and she was right there, urging him on. It should’ve killed me, but it didn’t. Didn’t even come close.

  I wondered on some fucked-up level if this would be enough to change the prick into someone less eager to fuck everyone else’s life up around them. If this would mean something, anything. If Grace would be the calm to ease off the storm in whatever fucked-up part of him he’d dragged down here to our doorstep.

  And then I wondered if I really cared. Why I really cared. If I’d ever known the cunt at all. If I’d ever deserved some of the hatred in his gut.

  She told him it felt amazing. He felt amazing. She told him she wanted it harder, faster, deeper. More.

  I held back and let him give it to her, watching through eager eyes as he took her where she wanted, his whole body thrusting as he claimed her. Until she reached for me. An outstretched arm begging for closeness.

  I gave it to her, shifting up on my haunches and presenting myself close enough that I could taste the sweat on the air, my own limbs working as theirs did, bringing her up and onto him, his dick impaled all the way as she landed hard and leaned forward, offering up that pretty asshole to two at once in a bid that saw me desperate to dig in deep.

  I cared nothing for the risk of balls against balls as I positioned myself behind her and brushed the head of my dick against her winking ass. She was still dribbling his filthy cum from her hole, and in any other circumstances it would have made me retch my fucking guts up, but not tonight.

  I closed my eyes as I pressed in hard, adoring how she whimpered and tensed at the strain of two.

  Her exclamation was feral, but not averse, rocking back against the intrusion as she whimpered with the stretch.

  He groaned along with her as I pushed my way inside, and I was there too, grunting at the sensation of another man’s dick filling her up to the brim along with mine. It was enough to offset any disgust, my balls aching to unload inside her as I took her hair in my fist and held her tight.

  “Fuck us,” I barked. “Both of us. Work our fucking dicks like you want it.”

  She gave it her all, gritting her teeth and shunting back like a dirty little angel as we stretched her wide. She took it like a trooper, murmuring like a slut as we ploughed into her, hedonistic in her desire to take us both in all the way.

  Bottoming out was a thrill that zipped right through me. He must have felt it too, because he grunted like I’d never heard him, cursing as she squirmed.

  “This is my dream…” she breathed, and it was obvious.

  I let my weight pin her between us, two bodies sandwiching her tight as I thrust my own hips to take her hard.

  The grunts were low and loud, both of us taking our fill without the need for bravado.

  “Fuck my wife,” I told him. “Give it to her.”

  He did. Shunting his hips to alternate with mine until she was squealing, and then he shifted, sinking into my rhythm. In and out together, both of us in unison, filling her to bursting, then leaving her hanging loose and winking for more, over and over and fucking over, until we were only flesh seeking more. Seeking her. Seeking the warmth of two tight fucking tunnels milking us dry.

  My chest was heaving against her back, balls thrumming with the need to unload, and he was right there with me, I heard it in his voice, felt it in his thrusts, desperate as he raised his hips for deeper.

  “Come for us,” I growled in her ear. “Show us what a greedy slut you are.”

  Her clit must have been pressed tight to his flesh, her writhing taking on a new sense of urgency as she struggled against my grip.

  “I’ve never felt like this…” she breathed, and I didn’t doubt it.

  I’d never fucking felt like this either, so lost in the moment as another guy’s brimming balls mashed with mine. It was revolting, but fucking perfect. It was the most natural thing in the fucking world to tumble into the white abyss along with her, caring for nothing but the thrill as I shot my load fucking deep.

  And I knew he was there right along with me, his breath as loud as mine amongst the thrust and slap of flesh on flesh.

  She shuddered and wailed like a woman crying at sea, clinging on tight to him as her asshole swallowed my dirty gift and sucked for more.

  I had nothing else to give her, my dick pulsing and spluttering as my thrusts stilled to nothing and his stilled under me.

  And there we stayed. Breathing. Twitching.

  Enjoying the flesh of the gorgeous woman between us as she whimpered out thanks in desperate, meaningless phrases.

  I’d have stayed there forever, happily embedded in that moment of pure disconnected pleasure, but it was him that moved us, urging her off him and me along with her, only to pull free and head for the edge of the bed, dropping his legs over the side and digging for his clothes as Grace and I remained a tangled heap of heavy breathing.

  “I’m getting some air,” he told us, without even glancing in our direction as he stepped back into his pants. “I’ll be wanting my bed to myself when I return.”

  He didn’t wait for a response before he buttoned up his shirt an
d grabbed his jacket, barely fastening his shoes before heading for the door.

  Grace waited in my arms before she spoke again, waited until he was well and truly gone before she flipped in my grip to stare up at me.

  “What the hell was that?” she asked. “Why the hasty retreat?”

  I didn’t have a fucking clue, and neither did I care.

  But she did.

  As always, my Grace was storming after the mystery, desperate to unravel the threads.

  “I’m going after him,” she said.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Thomas

  I was a stumbling mess as I took the rear stairs two at a time, my shirt barely fastened properly as I tumbled from the back door onto the terrace. I craved air, space, the cleansing chill of the sea breeze against my skin.

  I craved Polly’s sweet messages to help me make sense of my own fucked-up brain, lost in the spinning world of haunting memories and my own fractured ego.

  The ego these people had destroyed in the face of all the preparations I’d made for their destruction.

  They’d beaten me. He’d beaten me. That cunt Brett Foster had beaten me like the scrawny little school kid who couldn’t stand up to a beefy piece of shit like him all over again.

  I should hate him. Them. I should hate this place, hate what it was doing to me, hate everything it stood for here, and my own idiot bastard decision to come running when he called.

  But I didn’t. I didn’t hate any of it.

  Grace’s touch was divine, filled with something I’d shied away from my whole fucking life.

  Truth.

  Her touch was true. Genuine. Filled with want and warmth enough to drive a man crazy with the need for more.

  I’d never seen it, nor wanted to. My slut of a mother had put paid to that with her string of asshole fuckwit boyfriends right the way through my youth, throwing out the ones worth anything and climbing mountains for those who weren’t, and all the while I cursed from the side-lines and shivered in bed at night — hoping, praying, that my real father would see the error of his ways and come running back to make it all better. That one day I’d be worth enough for him to acknowledge I was a part of him.

  Only that day never came. No matter how hard I worked, or how much fucking money I made. No matter how high I climbed or how many people I stepped over, he was never there. Never even willing to reach out and make a call.

  And now he was dead.

  Dead and buried with only Brett fucking Foster listed as his offspring in his last will and testament.

  I slammed my fists against the railings as I stared out to sea, my balls still aching empty and my dick still wet with Grace’s juices. I stared out at the choppy waves and cursed myself for ever coming here in the first place, reaching into my pocket for a cigar as I choked back the ridiculous tears of that sad little boy inside and swore I’d leave in the morning, never to return.

  I’d barely got a grip of myself when I felt her behind me. My back tingled at her closeness as she stepped right up, craving more of everything I should despise.

  A quick look around confirmed her jock asshole husband was nowhere to be seen.

  “This is a private moment,” I barked, but she didn’t even flinch.

  “That was a quick exit,” she commented, her voice so even as she positioned herself at the railings to my left.

  “What did you expect? A shared toast at a job well done? The three of us reminiscing over the shudders of your slutty little cunt as we ploughed you deep?”

  I wasn’t ready for her laugh. “Maybe, yeah. It was a job well done.”

  I bristled at her humour, taking a deep puff of smoke and blowing it out hard.

  “It was a temporary truce,” I told her. “It meant nothing.”

  “A temporary truce from what exactly?” she asked, and her humour was all gone. “Do you know us? Do we know you?” She paused. “Did we do something to you?”

  I didn’t say a word, and she kept on rolling.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t know. It just doesn’t… add up. And I don’t get it. I’ve tried working it out, but the picture doesn’t make sense.”

  “Stop trying to make sense of senseless things,” I told her.

  “That’s the thing,” she replied. “I don’t think anything about this whole weird setup is senseless. You don’t seem like a senseless man.”

  When her arm hooked into mine it was enough of a jolt that I almost dropped my cigar to the beach. I was torn. Rigid and reeling all at once as that idiot boy dared to wish for more. I hated him. Myself. Hated not being good enough, because that’s what this was, ultimately. One big fucking failure. Two people being strong enough to tear down years of bitter planning. Two people daring to have something I’d convinced myself didn’t exist.

  Something that would last. A love that was stronger than the cash I’d thrown at them, or the physique I’d built up to compete with any other man.

  I knew in that moment, right there on the seafront with that woman’s gentle arm wrapped in mine, that it didn’t matter what I did in this place, no matter how hard my body claimed hers, or how much cash I tempted them with, or how sharp my moves were to tear them down.

  They’d still be standing.

  Maybe not here, with a hotel struggling to stay afloat. Maybe not even with the contented smile of two people looking forward to their years to come. But they’d be standing together, even if it was up to their knees in rancid, festering shit, with nothing to their name.

  They’d still be side by side.

  “Love doesn’t exist,” I said to the sea, caring little for the fact she was hearing me. “It’s nothing but the desperate quest of lonely people trying to find a missing piece of themselves. It’s pitiful. Desperate. Nothing but a pathetic illusion.”

  “That’s a very sad way of looking at the world,” she said.

  “Sad but true.”

  “And that’s why you do this? With the money? To prove love doesn’t exist?”

  “Something like that,” I snapped back, and took another mouthful of smoke.

  “You split people up with money, don’t you? How many before us?”

  My smirk felt so welcome when it reappeared on my face. “Plenty.”

  Her arm didn’t leave mine. “It won’t work here. Sorry, but it won’t. I guess we’ll be the blip on your winning score sheet.”

  “So it seems,” I said. “I’ll leave first thing, case closed.”

  I despised how the defeat sounded even in the stillness.

  “Or you could stay,” she said, with a softness to her voice at odds with the situation. “Stay. Walk the beach. Eat breakfast. Talk. Drink whisky. Have a holiday.”

  “I’m sure your good husband would be very happy with that arrangement,” I scoffed, but she shrugged.

  “He isn’t nearly so bad as you think he is. You asked for every bit of venom. He’s just a guy trying to live his life and make me happy. You were the one who wanted to tear us apart.”

  “And are you happy?” I asked. “Has this little fantasy lived up to your expectations?”

  Her giggle was divine. “You could say that.” Her arm squeezed mine. “I’d be more than happy for a rerun, taking out the crappy point-scoring, that is.”

  “You don’t know me,” I told her. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” She sighed. “But this place is good for the soul, and I think yours is begging to be found.”

  I’d have laughed in her face if that sad little sonofabitch wasn’t in my throat.

  “Don’t go,” she said again. “Not before you’ve worked it out.” One final squeeze of her arm in mine and she pulled away. “The room is on us, as long as you need it. So’s the pussy and the ass, if you want those too. On the house. Just, please, no more plots of marital destruction.”

  I turned to face her as she backed off. “That’s an invite for another three in a bed, is it? Despite knowin
g I’m all out to bring your marriage to its knees?”

  “It’s an invite for you to find what you’re looking for. I’d love to prove you wrong. Love does exist. It’s all around us, all the time.”

  “And what then? Shack up in a cosy little ménage, will we? That would make quite the pretty picture.”

  Her eyes twinkled in the darkness. “I think a cosy little ménage would most definitely be a case of one too many, Mr Heath. I only have enough heart for my husband, even if my body is keen to enjoy two. But there’s someone out there for you, you just need to be willing to let them in when they come calling. Maybe this place will help.”

  Someone out there for you.

  I felt empty enough to break in that moment. More isolated than I’d ever felt, even huddled in a corner of my old shitty bedroom while my mother entertained another of her disgusting suitors.

  “You’re sex drunk,” I told her. “Go back to your husband.”

  Her smile was bright. Delicious.

  “I’m on my way,” she said. “Enjoy your quiet room. I’ll see you at breakfast I hope.” She turned away to retreat back to the hotel, but flashed me one final look over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Tom.”

  She was long back inside when I finished up my cigar and tossed the butt down onto the beach. I was in my car before I realised it, the key in the ignition before I had any idea where I was headed.

  And then it dawned. The cold, hard reality that I had nowhere to head to, only back to London for an eternal string of the same nameless, mindless, soulless days.

  A full English fry-up sounded as good a destination as any.

  At least that’s what I told myself when I headed back upstairs.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Brett

  I watched them through the window, hanging far enough back that they stood no chance of seeing me there. The room was dark at my back, my eyes focused on their outlines at the railings illuminated by the dull orange glow of the porch light. I watched Grace take his arm in hers, and it surprised me how little threat I felt at their close proximity, given that I’d just watched her ride his dick like a dirty slut all night long.