Chapter Five - Bric
When I get back to the Club I head straight for my office. I have two messages from Jordan asking if I have anyone in mind from the Club to take the last girl’s place.
The Club girls never work out. I knew this once, but had forgotten it. Rochelle was around too long. Important things like that slipped my mind, even though they were hard-won lessons back in the early years.
I text him back. No. I’m taking a break.
I don’t wait for his response—I know he’s in court this afternoon, so he can’t answer anyway. So I take out the card the former FBI guy gave me, and call Rochelle’s cell phone using the landline.
“Hey,” she says in a soft voice, picking up on the first ring.
“That baby sleeping?”
“Almost.”
“I think it went well.”
“If you say so,” she whispers. I hear rustling, then some hushed shushing, like she’s trying to walk away from the baby without upsetting her. And then she’s back, talking normal. “Smith? What the hell was that?”
“I have no idea,” I say truthfully. “I really have no clue why he was so angry.”
“And the money? I feel dirty, Bric.”
“Don’t be dumb. His money’s just as good as Quin’s.”
“But it’s the reason why he sent it. Stay away. Fuck him. Just fuck him.”
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject. “I think Quin’s on board.”
“With me?”
“No.” I laugh.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because you hurt him, Rochelle. I’m pretty sure he came to see you just for the baby. And he thinks it’s his. One hundred percent his. So we probably should let him do that DNA test.”
“If he’s not coming around for me then… he’s coming around for you? Are you guys getting someone else?”
She sounds worried. Maybe genuinely worried that this might not work out the way she’s planned.
When she told me she didn’t want to take part in my plan down in Pagosa Springs yesterday I thought, OK. Well, I tried. But then she explained. She didn’t want me taking her back, presenting her like a gift, making things right. Starting the game again, just the three of us.
But she had her own plan. It’s not much different from mine, except she wanted to show up in Denver herself, call Chella—whom I knew would go straight to Quin—and Quin would show up at her hotel room and have the confrontation. For lack of a better word to call it.
She didn’t want me to bring her into the game because that would make me number one. Which makes sense. I’m not her number one, Quin is. He needs to be the guy to make the first move.
I didn’t count on Smith being so dead set on going over there with him. Or dragging me along, for that matter. I figured it would be a one-on-one. Just Rochelle and Quin. I imagined some tears from Rochelle. Quin comforting her. Then some make-up sex.
Bam, we’d set the stage for me to propose a new game. Quin would object, but I know he misses it. And he admitted that to me before we left the Club. So he’d give in.
My life would be back on track. Maybe not the quad I’m used to, but a threesome arrangement is almost as good. It’s practically what we had before, right? Smith was never around. It was just me and Quin. But last time I wasn’t invited into their relationship much. Every once in a while, but not often.
This time it’ll be different.
And if Smith didn’t interfere like that, we’d probably be on our way.
But he did. Asshole. And now we’re not quite there yet.
Rochelle came here expecting to be let back in. So it would be a big blow if she had to leave town with her tail between her legs. Worse yet, if she tried to stay and was overlooked when it came to Quin’s choice in the new game.
“I don’t know, Rochelle. We kinda had a talk today and I admitted I’d like him to play along again. Of course, no mention of your name. That was before we left the Club. But he was willing to give it a try. Just me and him and whomever we decide to choose.”
“So you might choose someone else?”
“Was I just speaking another language?”
“Don’t be an asshole. And ease up on the swearing-in-front-of-the-baby shit. It’s not like you to care about things like that. You’re only saying that because I said something to you yesterday.”
“But you didn’t correct Quin or Smith today.”
“I didn’t have a chance. You started being weird about it.”
“Anyway,” I say, looping the conversation back around to my point. “I think he’ll come around. Listen, I gotta go. Lots of shit to do this time of year.”
“Parties?” she says.
“Is that a hint of wistfulness I detect? You better get over it if it is. Because this game won’t look anything like the last one.”
“Explain,” she says.
“When I know more, I will. But I won’t know more until Quin and I talk it over. What time does the baby usually nap? In the morning?”
“Around ten—ten-thirty. She wakes up early so she’s usually tired around then. Why?”
“You’ll see. Kiss that baby for me. I really do gotta go.”
I hang up before she can answer back and lean into my chair.
She looked good today. Much better than yesterday even though she was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Yesterday she looked lonely. Today she looked… hopeful.
I might be hopeful too. I mean, Jesus Christ. A few days ago, I was upstairs with Jordan losing the game—yet again. And today Rochelle is back. If everything goes well we’re gonna be fucking her tomorrow. And then… who knows?
Rochelle isn’t my dream girl, but she’s good enough. She was only a fair submissive. She likes the spankings and a little bit of bondage. Blindfolding, tying her hands to the bed, and a few minutes with the gag in her mouth are all things we did together.
But Rochelle is never going to crawl across the floor to suck my cock. Or look up at me, crying beautiful silent tears as I fuck her mouth. She’d knee me in the balls if I ever tried to make her call me Master.
I have to laugh just thinking about it.
So, no. She’s not really into the kind of kink I like. But that’s what the Club is for, right? Rochelle is like the wife and the Club girls are like the mistresses.
Christmas is coming and even though Smith and Chella will be going to most of the parties themselves this year, I still have a few on my calendar. Rochelle is a good date. Someone I can take out in public. She knows what to do. How to act. What to say—and not say.
She’s… trained.
It’s a little derogatory. I’ll admit to that. But it’s also true. I invested three years of my life with her and Quin—why throw that away? I never wanted her to leave. Quin never wanted her to leave. Rochelle didn’t even want to leave. She was hormonal, she said. Not thinking straight.
So now she just needs a little help to reconsider all her options.
I smile as I kick my feet up on my desk and stare out at the capitol building.
Quin wants her back, he’s just playing hard to get. And Smith told me that he thinks Quin misses me while we were waiting for him to show up at the Club for lunch today. I think he does too. We had something good, man. It was good. No thinking, no awkwardness, no jealousy. Not enough to matter, anyway.
So this is my challenge. Make both of them reconsider their options. Get the three of us together alone so they can remember how easy it is.
It will be easy. I can feel it.
We’re a little family. We had a small spat, but family is family.
Plus, there’s a baby now. Our baby. No matter who that baby’s father is, she’s still ours. That right there might be enough glue to hold us together.
Hmmm. I think about this for a moment.
Maybe Rochelle is right about not getting a DNA test? I mean, I know why she doesn’t want one. She doesn’t want to share that baby with us. But it’s too late. She’s back, the baby is here, and Quin and I know about her.
Rochelle’s game is over.
But… I could take Rochelle’s side against Quin in this respect. Put that test off so none of us know who the real father is. That way we have to be a threesome.
Yes. Little Adley Bastille is our glue.
As long as none of us know who the real father is, we’ll be together. I’ll have my stability back, Quin will have Rochelle back, and Rochelle will be right back where she belongs.
In my game.
A new game.
The three of us together. All day, every day.
My mind is spinning with ideas. Plots and plans to get what I want. What we all want. It’s not really all about me.
Well. I chuckle, feeling a little smug. It’s mostly about me.