Chapter Eighteen - Bric
Monday night is like the last year never happened.
Rochelle never walked out. Quin never got hurt. I never gave a baby called Adley the nickname ‘pumpkin.’
One week ago, I thought Jordan Wells was my new partner, Quin was never going to talk to me again, and I was happy—or, at the very least, relieved—that Rochelle had pulled off such an amazing disappearing act.
I don’t even recognize that life when the elevator doors open and I step into the loft. Music is playing. Not loud, but just loud enough. I instinctively know that Adley is asleep just by the atmosphere. The smell of good food lingers in the air, the lights are dim, and I can hear the soft sounds of Rochelle and Quin talking in the kitchen.
I’m late getting home because of work, but I’m so ready to be here with them.
I slip out of my coat, throw it on a chair, and loosen my tie as I turn towards their low voices. They are happy voices. Content. The way they used to be. There was never any tension in our relationship with Rochelle before she got pregnant. Looking back, I can see that I missed the change from easy, to strained, to unbearable after she confided in me and asked for advice. I won’t make that mistake again.
They are drinking wine. Rochelle always did like wine. I see the bottle—something French and expensive—on the counter, and just… enjoy them for these few moments before they see me.
I spy on them. Like a voyeur.
Quin is leaning against the countertop. Rochelle’s legs are pressed up against his, so their hips touch. He has one hand on her waist, she has one hand on his forearm. They both hold wine glasses as they talk, and smile, and look into each other’s eyes, like they are the only thing that matters.
It’s erotic, I think. The position they’re in.
It’s easy again. Like it used to be before.
One week and we are caught in her web. She is a spider wrapping us up in silk. We are the food that feeds her.
I’d lost sight of that last year when Chella appeared in her bed. It all happened so fast. Smith was there to persuade me that things had gone on too long. Remind me of the game and hint that we needed a new player.
And I went along because that’s what I do. I like same and I’m not afraid to admit it. I liked same with Rochelle more than I ever cared to admit.
She was—is—the perfect player in the game of Elias Bricman. She knows all the rules, all the shortcuts, all the perils, all the ways to win and lose, and win again. And I never had to teach her these things. She never asked questions like Chella did. She never questioned anything at all. She just played to the best of her ability and along the way we discovered she’s a fucking gold-medal Olympic athlete in this game. She is breaking record after record. First to stay so long. First to walk out. First to come back. First to have our baby. First to make me want…
It’s the last one that’s starting to bother me a little. Just a little. Just a tiny bit.
I won’t admit to it. If I admit to it, things will not be easy anymore. Things will be strained and then things might become unbearable. She’s not walking out, I know this. I feel this. No, she’s here, and she’s here to stay.
But Quin and I are another matter.
His trust might not be back but he’s forgiven her. He’s OK with the setup so far. He’s OK with the share. But it’s tenuous. Like one wrong move could set him back.
I refuse to be that one wrong move.
“Hey,” I say, stopping to lean against the quartz island. “Did I miss dinner?”
They both look at me, smile bigger, and some of the uneasiness melts away.
“I saved you a plate,” Rochelle says, breaking contact with Quin to motion to the microwave. I can just barely make out a plate through the mesh pattern of the door.
“I’ll eat later,” I say, so I don’t become the reason this moment breaks. Food can come later. I’m not hungry for food right now.
Quin sets down his wine glass, grabs a cut-crystal rocks glass on the counter next to him, and uses a pair of silver tongs to drop in three ice cubes with a series of clinks. The bottle of brandy is expensive, just like the wine, and it’s sitting on the counter, waiting for me. He pours, offers the glass to me, and I walk over and take it from him, our fingers touching—just slightly—in the process.
He’s been waiting for me.
No. Correction.
He’s ready for me.
“Busy day?” Quin asks, sipping from his glass.
I take a long drink of brandy, almost finish it, and exhale. “Not busy enough to make me forget where I was coming home to tonight.”
Rochelle pulls me into them like I belong there. Rises up on her toes and kisses me on the mouth. Our tongues tangle together, the sweetness of her wine mixing with the citrus of my brandy.
Quin joins in. No hesitation.
I have missed his mouth, I realize. I have missed these moments. And Chella just wasn’t the same. Chella was new and inexperienced. A novice in the game of Bric and Quin. Rochelle is a professional. The three of us together are the definition of team.
The music is perfect. Ray LaMontagne, Be Here Now. So very, very Rochelle.
She smiles at us, her hands on the waist of our pants. Like an expert, wise to the ways of unbuckling the belts of two men at the same time, she unbuckles us. Unbuttons us. Unzips us. Her hands slip inside and pull us out. Thick, and long, and hard. We kiss again. It’s slow, but the kind of slow that precedes something hard and fast.
It’s a kind of savoring, I realize.
Rochelle drops to her knees. Her mouth is eager. Hungry. I am so close to Quin, our arms press against each other. Still, Rochelle has us draw closer, his chest pressing against mine as she opens her mouth and the tips of our cocks slip inside and disappear.
I have to close my eyes when his hand rests on my hip. His fingers gripping into my skin, pulling me close, so we change position slightly. I know what he wants, but this standing position isn’t the way he’ll get it. Three people fucking at the same time requires careful maneuvering.
Stop thinking, Elias. Just enjoy.
Quin settles for less than perfect and places his hand over Rochelle’s. They fist my cock together. I join in, my hand over hers, on him. This is how we connect when Rochelle is on her knees in front of us.
Quin’s other hand is in Rochelle’s hair, holding tightly. I imagine how that pulls on her scalp, and groan.
We’ve done this dozens of times and each experience is better than the last. This time is no different. This is the best it’s ever been. This is the pinnacle of perfection of what we have.
We let Rochelle have her way for a little longer, but I can tell that Quin is as eager as me to move things along to the next wave of pleasure. He grabs her arm, signaling for her to stand. And we begin to undress her. I work on her pants. Unbuttoning, unzipping, then a forceful tug. She helps me from there, maneuvering her jeans over her hips until they fall to the floor.
She and I both start undressing me as Quin unbuttons her blouse, opens it up, and then pulls her bra down so the underwire will push her tits up. He sucks on her nipple as my shirt comes off. Fingers slip between her legs, making her moan as my pants drop to the floor and I step out, kicking them aside.
Then it’s Quin’s turn. She takes off his t-shirt as I wrap my hand around his shaft and slowly pump it up and down. Quin closes his eyes. He’s missed me just as much as I’ve missed him, I can tell.
I make her kneel again, push her head towards his cock, and she opens. I guide her as she sucks. Encourage her to take him deeper. I glance up at Quin and find him staring at me.
We smile.
Rochelle yanks his pants down his legs and then he too has kicked aside the rest of his clothes.
Rochelle rises to her feet and we stand there naked for a few moments. All three of us picturing what comes next. We don’t need to talk. Explanations and instructions aren’t necessary. Rochelle backs away until she bumps up against the kitchen island. She places both of her hands on the edge, palms down, and lifts herself up so she’s sitting on it.
I walk towards her, place both of my hands on her knees, and open her legs. Her pussy is pink and wet. Ready for us. I lean in and lick her. Swipe my tongue across her folds and then tickle her clit.
Quin pushes her backwards and she obeys without comment or protest. When her skin comes in contact with the cold, hard quartz, she bucks a little, arching her back. But Quin is there, fingers between her legs, joining my tongue, as we make it all better. He leans down to kiss her lips as I watch, staring across her flat belly. His other hand is squeezing her breast. I reach up, both hands sliding across her abdomen at once, still licking her pussy and making it wetter, to squeeze her breasts too.
I want to do so many, many things to Rochelle right now. But we are constrained by the kitchen island she’s lying on. I know Quin is thinking the same thing. He wants to lift her up, carry her to the bed, or the floor, or the couch—or wherever—so we can fuck her right.
But he waits. We wait.
We worship her just a little longer.
I make a bet with myself as I lift her knees up towards her chest. Open her legs wider so I can lick her deeper. I think he’ll take her to the bed.
But he doesn’t. When he pulls Rochelle up to a sitting position, signaling me to back away, he slides in between her legs and picks her up. She instinctively wraps her limbs all around him. Her legs around his waist. Her arms around his neck. And he carries her to the couch. He sets her down on the floor and spins her around, pressing her chest down on the arm of the couch.
This is one of our favorite ways to fuck her, and she knows just what to do when I sit down on the couch. Her hand is on my dick, her body leaning over into my lap as she takes me in her mouth and begins to suck.
The real show for me is Quin. Who presses his hard, erect cock against her ass, both hands on her hips. I watch his face. I wait for it. That look. The way he closes his eyes when he first enters her.
When he opens them again, he’s staring at me.
We smile.
This is why we play the game, and Rochelle is the only girl we’ve ever had who never has to be told what to do. Never has to think twice. Never has to second-guess herself.
We are a team of professionals.
I place a hand on Rochelle’s back, stroking her softly as Quin fucks her slowly. He pushes in hard and deep, then withdraws in increments. Slow. Too slow for Rochelle. She wants more now. We all want more now. But Quin will deny us until he’s ready. He enjoys his time inside her. Savors it, just like we savored that preliminary kiss.
When I know I’m getting close, I grab Rochelle by the upper arm and tug on her. She responds just the way she should. Climbing onto my lap, straddling my thighs. Quin’s dick slips out of her, slick and shiny from her wet pussy.
I feel that wetness a second later when she grabs my cock in her hand, guides me to her entrance, and lowers herself.
When I look at Quin, he’s watching me the same way I did him.
We smile.
Quin repositions himself as I tug Rochelle down to my chest and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly against me. I love the way her breasts press against my skin. I love the way her hair tickles my shoulders. I love the way she pants her hot breath into the sensitive skin just under my ear.
Quin starts with a finger in her ass. He pumps her and I feel it. I can feel his fingertips against my shaft as she moves her hips over mine in small circles. I want to tell him to stop fucking around and just shove his cock inside her ass, but I don’t. I’m patient. The best part of all this is the expectations.
But then the waiting is over—too soon, almost. And the tip of Quin’s cock is pressing against her ass. There is no smacking of her cheeks. No dirty words to turn her on more. We like it that way too, and we’ll do it that way next time, for sure. But this time, words aren’t necessary. There is no need to pull her hair, or slap her face, or choke her neck—even though she will beg us to do all those things next time.
This time we don’t fuck her. We love her.
It seems to last forever and then it’s over too quick.
I come inside her, wondering if she is on birth control, and not caring one bit.
Quin waits until I’m done, then kneels on the couch, urging her to suck him, and then he comes in her mouth.
She swallows, her pussy clamping down on my dick as she comes too, my semen mixing with her climax, leaking out, dripping down my shaft and over my balls.
We are a hot, sweaty mess of perfection as Quin leans into us. Our bodies tangled up the way they were always meant to be. Arms and legs wrapped around each other as we kiss her, and each other.
In this round of the game, we are, once again, all three winners.