Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  “I haven’t done it for a long time,” I tell her. “Since before I was married.”

  “It’s really none of my business, you don’t have to tell me…”

  But I want to. Because if this is real… if she really…

  I rub my temples. “I struggle with this. With this… interest.”

  “You feel bad about wanting sex with other men?”

  Her question is so innocuous, so unassuming, and it makes me feel like a fucking douche for my hang-ups.

  “I have my fucking father to thank for that,” I admit. “And my judgemental fucking bitch of an ex-wife.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it...”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it.” I hate the way my voice snaps. “I’m just not used to talking. I’m not used to…” My arms gesture to nothing. “This. Any of this.”

  “It’s just a silly fantasy.” Her voice is so calm. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  But I can’t deny the truth to myself.

  I love how uncomfortable she makes me feel. I love how on edge this is making me, how fucking desperate I feel inside.

  I love the glimmer of hope in the darkness. And I love that I hope this is something.

  I feel like a fucking fool for it, but I do.

  I relax onto the bed, my head propped on my elbow. “Tell me about your fantasy.”

  She mirrors my position, her eyes so hungry for mine. “I’m not sure I should…”

  “Tell me,” I insist, and she shrugs.

  “I think about you fucking another guy. I think about watching. I think about your cock in another guy’s ass, I think about you… being rough… I think about you, um… choking him… like you choke me.” She pauses. “I think about watching you kiss another guy. I think about you with his cum in your mouth. I think about how it would make me feel…”

  My mouth is bone fucking dry. “How would it make you feel?”

  She gasps, and this is real. The truth of it prickles my fucking skin as she slips her fingers between her thighs. “It makes me come… when I think about it…”

  My words are parched. “Show me…”

  And she fucking does.

  She circles that tender fucking clit with her little fingers until she squirms. “Oh God,” she whispers. “Oh fuck, I want to see you fuck someone so hard…”

  “You want to see my cock in another guy’s dirty fucking asshole?” My cock twitches. I can’t hide how fucking hard I am.

  She screws her eyes closed. “Yes. Oh God, yes…”

  I can’t stop myself wrapping my hand around my dick. “You want to see me pound some other guy’s filthy fucking hole?”

  She groans. “Please, oh fuck… fuck…”

  “And what would you be doing?”

  Her eyes are so hooded when they meet mine. “Watch… I want to watch… I want to see everything…”

  “Just watch?”

  Her voice is fragile. Timid. “I don’t know…”

  “I’m rough,” I grunt. “When I fuck like that… it’s rough…”

  She moans, and her fingers are fucking frantic between her legs. “Fuck, Alexander, I want that… I really want to see that…”

  I can’t come again so soon, it’s fucking insane, but my balls are aching all fucking over again, my cock jerking like a fucking fish in my palm.

  She braces herself against me, her fingers tight on my shoulder. “I come every time I think about you with another man…”

  And so do I.

  It hurts when I shoot my load against her belly. My dick is raw and pulsing, my balls pained as they fucking blow.

  I stare dumbly as she drags my cum down between her thighs and rubs my creamy fucking seed around her clit.

  Her eyes have a filthiness in them I’ve never seen. I’m open-mouthed as she takes hold of my hair and urges me down between her legs.

  “Please,” she whispers. “Oh God, Alexander… please…”

  She wants me to lick myself from her fucking pussy.

  She wants to see me with my own fucking cum in my mouth.

  My heart is fucking frantic. The girl is sending me fucking insane.

  I know right now I’m doomed, snared by this beautiful fucking creature in my fucking bed.

  So I do it.

  I lick my lick every drop of cum from her fucking pussy, and I open wide to show her. My dirty fucking secrets are right there for her to see, my eyes fucking desperate as I let my own fucking cum dribble from my filthy fucking mouth.

  She comes. Hard.

  My fingers dance with hers around her sopping clit, and her mouth is open for mine as she rides the fucking wave. She drags me to her and she feels as desperate as I do.

  I’ve never wanted anything as I want to please this fucking girl.

  I’ll do fucking anything to please this fucking girl.

  She moans around my tongue, sucking the taste of me. She tips my head back and her eyes are hooded once again as she waits for me to swallow.

  I swallow and she smiles.

  Her smile is everything.

  I wait until our calming breath is the only thing between us.

  The words burn as they come out.

  “I’ll do it,” I tell her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  MELISSA

  IT FEELS grubby to take his money in the morning, but he insists.

  He hands me the envelope when I’m finishing up my muesli and won’t hear any of my protests.

  “How is it?” he asks as I scoop up the final dregs of milk from the bowl, and I have to smile another stupidly-ignorant smile.

  “Delicious. I love how the peaches taste with the chocolate. It’s so unusual.”

  He seems to like that. “One of my silly little specialities. I’m not much of a chef.”

  I tell him I disagree, but he laughs it off.

  His laugh is divine.

  He asks my plans for the day and it catches me off guard.

  My heart pangs at the thought of Joe waiting at home.

  Alexander looks a little disappointed as I tell him I’ll have to leave soon. I wish I could invite him to come along and hang out with us, maybe push Joe on the swings awhile.

  Maybe one day.

  “I’ll see you later, yes?” he checks, and I nod.

  “Of course. Delaney’s at eight.”

  He shakes his head. “No need for Delaney’s. I think we’ve well and truly crossed professional boundaries, don’t you?”

  I know this is a triumph. Waking up in his bed with him was the most amazing feeling.

  “I’ll come back here, then? At eight?” I’m so happy I could cry.

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I nod. Thank him again for the money and the breakfast. Thank him for everything.

  I hug Brutus goodbye, and kiss Alexander right on the mouth in the doorway without holding back.

  There’s nothing left to hold back.

  ALEXANDER

  I WIRE the rest of Amy’s money to Claude’s offshore account and let him know about my impromptu evening by email.

  I tell him I’ll no longer be needing Delaney’s while I’m at it.

  His reply comes through instantly.

  No venue?

  No venue, I confirm. I’ll take it from here, I confirm.

  You exchanged personal information?

  I don’t bother replying to that one. It’s none of the cunt’s fucking business what I’ve exchanged with her.

  Having the girl in my home was the final straw for me. The final scrap of my restraint has shrivelled and died. For better or fucking worse I’m all in with this insanity.

  I browse upcoming music events after I’ve walked Brutus, but there’s nothing that takes my interest.

  I haven’t felt alive in so long. This surge of life is addictive. It makes me believe anything is possible. Anything.

  That’s why I fire an email off to the Kings and C
astles management team. That’s why I ask them why their current gig listings are empty on their website.

  It takes a few hours to get a response, but when it arrives it’s very forthcoming.

  That’s what an email signature like mine gets you. That’s what being a lawyer gets you full stop in fact, even if your email has nothing to do with the fucking law whatsoever.

  They tell me the band are recording a new album. They tell me there will be no upcoming gigs for at least six months.

  I call the mobile number listed, and a shy woman answers.

  “It’s Alexander Henley,” I tell her. “I just emailed.”

  “Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry about the schedule, but if you check back in six months…”

  “I’ve no interest in checking back in six months,” I say, and I have my calendar open in front of me. “I want them to perform next week.”

  “But that’s… impossible…”

  “Five hundred grand,” I tell her, and her gasp of breath tells her I’ve gone in way too high, but I don’t fucking care.

  “Five hundred thousand? To play next week?!” I hear the frantic tapping of keys and imagine her looking me up from my email details.

  “I’ll transfer the funds on confirmation.”

  “I’d need to make some calls…”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I tell her.

  She calls me back in fifteen, and by then I’ve already confirmed a venue. An intimate little gig in Charing Cross road. The venue also cost me a pretty penny, but I don’t care about that either.

  I’m used to Brenda organising my entire life for me, but not this time. I’m glad I’m handling this one for myself. The thrill is exhilarating.

  I’m surprised I haven’t done this before, but Claire hated this band. She hated pretty much everything I loved.

  “I’ve pulled some strings,” the woman on the phone tells me.

  Her words make me smile.

  I give her the venue details and she writes them down. I ask her for their bank details and she reads them out twice.

  I ask for an official invoice which she assures will arrive in my inbox in less than five minutes.

  It takes four exactly.

  I wire the funds with a smile on my face, and it takes all of my reserve not to head right on over to Amy’s house to spill the crazy fucking news.

  But I don’t.

  The surprise will be the sweetest.

  MELISSA

  MY HEART FEELS full to bursting as I lift Joe into the baby swing. His sweet laughter tickles me, his little bobble hat swaying in the breeze.

  Dean has a quiet smile on his face as he watches us, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets against the chill.

  I try not to stare at him, but I can’t help it. I try not to wonder what will happen if he agrees to my crazy scheme, but I can’t help myself.

  I try not to imagine him taking Alexander’s beautiful cock in his ass. The idea makes me lurch like a rollercoaster.

  I don’t know whether I can ask him. I don’t know whether doing something like that would be too weird to ever come back from.

  But he wants Alexander. I know he does. I know he thinks about it.

  I know he’d be the perfect set-up. I know he’d enjoy it like I enjoy it. I know he’d know what to expect and not go screaming for the hills as soon as that grip landed firm around his throat.

  “You’re quiet,” he says as we head away from the park.

  “Am I?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, Lissa, you really are. All Henley’d up, I guess.”

  “Something like that.”

  We buy a pot of bubbles on the walk back, and Joe claps his hands as they float all around.

  He’s happy. He’s really happy.

  And I am too.

  “You out again tonight?” Dean asks as he pours us a coffee back home.

  I nod. “It’s Saturday. My usual night.”

  “What about Wednesday? Is that a usual night now as well?”

  I don’t know, I tell him. Because I don’t.

  “And Fridays?”

  I don’t know that, either.

  “It’s great money,” I say. “Crazy money.”

  “So quit the day job.”

  I feel the niggle in my belly. “Maybe soon.”

  “Maybe right now, before he puts two and two together and this whole mess puts you on your ass.”

  He’s got a point and I know it.

  “Soon,” I repeat. “Maybe.”

  He lets it drop.

  The pressure to confess my crazy scheme is right behind my eyes. But I can’t. Not with Joe chomping happily on apple slices in the room next door.

  I feel guilty all over again, but this time it’s not for Alexander. It’s for the shit I’m going to try to drag Dean into.

  It’s for the crazy way I’ve been thinking about him.

  “Do whatever you have to do,” he tells me when I’m all dressed up and ready to go. “Whatever it is, just go all in and get it done. You’ve got to, Lissa. You’ve got to make this real or walk away, for all of us, not least for you.”

  My heart thumps.

  “I know,” I tell him, and I do know.

  I’m close enough to taste it. Close enough to feel my dreams at my fingertips.

  I just need him to help me with the last final hurdle.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. “We’ll have an us night tomorrow. Wine, takeout…”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “We need to talk,” I tell him, and his eyes are so suspicious.

  They should be. He knows me too well.

  “Talk about what?”

  “Alexander Henley stuff,” I say as I head for the door. “And stuff about us, too. I’ll tell you all tomorrow, I promise.”

  I kiss Joe on the way out, and dash off for Kensington before Dean can grill me for details.

  ALEXANDER

  MY ATTEMPT at homemade paella is quite abysmal, but Amy doesn’t seem to mind.

  Her eyes sparkle across the dining table as I top up her wine, and I’m itching to tell her about my grandiose gesture for next weekend.

  I keep a poker face regardless.

  A full stomach does nothing to quell her libido. She’s tearing my shirt from my chest before we’ve even cleared the plates.

  I fuck her all the way through my house.

  I push her to her knees in my hallway and ram my cock right down her pretty throat.

  Her lips are still glistening with my cum as I finger fuck her asshole over my kitchen island.

  She’s perfectly ready for my cock as I take her tight cunt over my coffee table.

  I fuck her again as we’re washing up for bed. She braces herself on the wash basin as I choke her until her legs are weak. Her eyes are stark in the medicine cabinet reflection. Her skin looks so pale as I take her to edge.

  I have to support her weight as she comes with my thumb against her clit.

  She’s still loose and limp as I carry her through to the bedroom like a perfect little doll.

  And there she rests – her head snug in the crook of my shoulder as she drifts off to sleep.

  I browse gay hook-up sites on my phone until sleep finds me too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ALEXANDER

  THE USUAL UNDERTONE of desolation is absent as I make the drive across to Hampshire on Sunday afternoon. Even Brutus seems to grin at me, his overbite looking especially slobbery as he pants in the passenger seat.

  I think he liked having Amy in our house again last night.

  Having a new cleaner in the house first thing this morning, not so much.

  “You’ve got to stop doing that shit,” I tell him, as though he stands a hope in hell of understanding. “You’ll get us into trouble one day, boy.”

  Having to rescue a damsel in distress from behind your kitchen doorway at seven a.m. – dressed in nothing but your bathrobe – raises the heartrate somewhat.

  Br
utus still looks thoroughly pleased with himself.

  At least our sweet Amy slept through the fracas.

  My sweet Amy slept like an angel. An angel with a sore fucking asshole. I can’t fight the smirk.

  I’m enjoying the sensation of waking up in my own bed with her tight little body next to mine. I’m enjoying her gentle laughter. I’m enjoying the way she wants me.

  I’m enjoying everything.

  And I’m going to enjoy seeing my boys, too.

  They’re already waiting when I pull up on Claire’s driveway. They rush though the front door as their mother paces out after them, but even the scowl on her miserable face can’t dent my mood.

  I give the boys a hug and tell them to pile on in to see Brutus, and Claire waits until they’re safely in the Merc before she launches into her monologue about state school being the right option for the boys, and have I thought any more about my silly position on the whole thing.

  I tell her no – in no uncertain terms – and she shakes her head.

  “You’re unbelievable, Alex. You need to think of the boys.”

  My response is instant. I am thinking of the fucking boys.

  “They are moving schools!” she blusters.

  I hold my ground. They’re not moving fucking schools without my say so and she fucking knows it.

  I’d strip her of her lavish lifestyle in a heartbeat, fight her through the courts with a legal prowess far more intimidating than she’ll ever have access to.

  She’d be a fool to fight me head-on and she knows that, too.

  “You’re a stubborn bastard,” she says, and I nod.

  “Think what you want, Claire. The boys need a decent education.”

  “Like you had? So they can turn out like you?!”

  I don’t grace her with an answer to that one. I’m already heading back to the car, fighting to keep hold of my sunny disposition long enough to smile through crappy burgers and too much football lingo.

  “Ask them what they want!” she calls after me. “At least ask the boys what they want!”

  So I do.

  I ask them as soon as we’ve taken a seat with our offal-based meat products.

  “Your mother tells me you want to change schools,” I say. “Is that true?”