The world is an ungrateful fucking place. People are an ungrateful fucking species. The petty bullshit they focus on, fight about, make shows about, is infuriating. It’s the primary reason I prefer to watch the animal planet or ESPN. You know, on the days I do feel like turning on the television. On the days where I don’t feel like lying in bed, begging death to yank me out of the prison my body has become.
My hand reaches for the remote at the same time the doorbell rings. Unsure who it could be but certain I don’t care; I change the channel from the obnoxious sitcom to a show about pets that don’t get along.
Right.
Because that matters more than people who can’t fucking stand each other?
The doorbell rings again except this time it is proceeded by incessant knocking. A heavy groan of irritation falls from me, and I wheel myself across our hardwood floors for the front door. I don’t even have time to touch the knob before the harsh pounding starts again.
Swinging it open, I’m taken off guard by the sight of Hudson’s grinning face and glowing demeanor.
He’s impossible to hate. Believe me, I’ve been trying. From the moment we met Sunday night all I’ve been trying to do is make him less fucking perfect than he is. Great job. Great sense of humor. Great fucking body since my wife couldn’t stop herself from staring at it like she was judging for Outside The Lines’ Sexiest Man of the Month Award. Not that I can fucking blame her. It’s not like I give her anything worth staring at any more. It’s not like she can admire the way my ass looks in my gray sweats. Flat. It looks fucking flat. Over a year of sitting around on it because my goddamn legs are on strike has erased any proof I ever used to even have a body worth taking a second look at.
Ha.
I can hate something about him. He makes me more fucking self-conscious than I already am.
“Gwen’s not home.”
The crispness of my tone is intended to have him leave, yet his smile expands. “I know.”
Of course he knows. He’s blowing up her phone constantly with texts.
I don’t wanna know what they say. I don’t wanna know when they date. I don’t wanna know about all the things he’s giving her that I can’t.
“I’m here for you.”
Instinctively, my reaction is to laugh.
I’m not dating another man. It’s fucked up enough I’m consenting to my wife doing it. And the only reason that’s even a goddamn option is because I can’t stomach the guilt that comes from simply looking at her. She is wasting her life away by staying beside me because she took a vow, in the middle of a butterfly garden, in front of people we don’t even associate with any more, to stick with me through sickness and in health. She doesn’t love me anymore. Fucked up thing is, I completely understand why and accept it.
“That’s the agreement, right?” Hudson wets his lips and my eyes dart to observe the action. “I have to date both of you.”
His mouth catches a glimpse of the sunlight, and a deep groan festers in the back of my throat.
What the hell is that?
Why the hell am I growling? Why the hell am I staring at the way his full lips are parted? Why the hell am I starting to wonder what sound he would make if I snatched the bottom one into my mouth using my teeth?
“About that-”
“Brought beer,” he announces at the same time he lifts the plastic bag up. “More of a whiskey man, but the company that makes my favorite whiskey bought this beer brand last year, and I gotta admit, shit’s good. Better than whatever that shit was you two served me the other night.”
I don’t respond.
“You strike me as a beer man, Blondie.”
“Don’t drink.”
Hudson’s cut face flashes confusion.
Something inside pushes me to add, “At least not since the accident.”
He grows a triumphant grin though I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks he’s got a new beer guzzling buddy or because he got me to confess more than intended.
How the hell did he do that? One puzzled look and suddenly he has me wrapped around his fucking finger? What the hell is the matter with me? I’m not even interested in same sex shit. To each their own. Whose cock a person sucks behind closed doors is no body’s business except theirs. Personally? I’m not sucking any. Not now. Not ever. And damn sure not the same dude who’s going to shove his dick into parts of my wife I haven’t felt in over a year.
Anguish and aggravation anchor themselves to the back of my neck.
Wasn’t in the mood for self-loathing today. It’s the entire fucking reason I turned on the T.V.
“Time to change that streak,” Hudson proclaims. “Let’s drink a beer and watch Die Hard or some shit.” He pushes his way past me not needing an invitation to come inside. “I assume you’re a fan.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve got good taste in pussy. I assume you’ve got good taste in action movies.”
Against my own volition a chuckle fills the air.
However as soon as I shut the door behind us, his choice of words settles poorly on my shoulders.
Has he tasted Gwen? Has she been calling his name and coming on his cock? Have they made it that far? Isn’t that too fast? Shouldn’t they get to know each other more? Shouldn’t she have more respect for herself rather than just jump on the first dick she’s allowed to have that’s not mine?
My head starts to throb, and I realize a cold beer isn’t a bad idea.
A little bit of alcohol should make this whole fucking situation easier to swallow. My wife has a lover because my cock can’t be bothered to rise to the occasion anymore. Because it’s as useless as my fucking gimp legs.
When I finally wheel myself back into the living room, Hudson’s already kicked off his designer shoes, loosened his black tie, and propped his feet up on the dark marble coffee table.
The vision kicks the corner of my lip upward.
This asshole looks like he’s right at home. Like this is his home. Like he isn’t some stranger I agreed to let sleep with my wife rather than live a life without her. And to make this picture-perfect moment worse there’s an actual relief in my chest from it. Like he belongs exactly where he is, and it’s just finally happening.
What the hell is going on with me?
Hudson tosses a hand in the air. “You rollin’ in here or what?”
I grunt my annoyance at his phrasing and position myself beside the corner of the couch he is sitting on.
He offers me one of the opened beers.
“What the fuck are you really doing here, Hudson? Swinging by to double check I don’t mind you fucking my wife? Cause I could’ve saved you the trip with a phone call.” I take the bottle and have a quick swallow to push down the building animosity. “She’s all yours.”
“Ours.”
A correction I never in my life thought I’d hear.
“And I’m not fuckin’ her yet.”
His slip of information grabs my attention.
“I’m here because I got a couple of questions.” He has a gulp of his drink and tips the bottle towards me. “Plus, I wanna have a few beers.”
“You wanna braid my hair too?”
The snap causes Hudson to let out a hearty sound that burrows itself into my bones.
That sound is sexy as sin. Only thing sexier is the way Gwen moans my name….
Used to moan my name.
“What the fuck are you watching?”
I give the television my attention while having another swig. “Animal planet.”
“Because….?”
“Because people piss and moan about the stupidest fucking shit. At least on this channel it’s less about their first world problems and more about the laws of the jungle trying to take over their homes.”
Hudson hums, “Bitter.”
My eyes cut him a glance.
“Yeah, I meant you.”
His dark eyebrows arch as if waiting for an argument. Waiting to be challenged or corrected.
He can wait all fucking day. I’m not gonna do it. See, I am bitter, and if he had legs that couldn’t remember how to move without assistance and a dick that has no trouble peeing but can’t remember why pussy is worth standing up for, he’d be fucking bitter too. Or at the very least flash those over whitened teeth a little less.
“When’s the last time you fucked, Gwenny?”
The crassness of his question shakes my head. “You wanna know what she likes in bed? You come to do your research?”
“Research, yes. What she likes, no. I prefer to figure that shit out as we go.”
Part of me wants to punch him in his smug, olive skinned face. The other part of me wants to watch that discovery. Remember what her eyes look like when they’re struggling to stay open. Watching her tits bounce as she rides hard and fast. Hearing her moans morph into untamable screams….Wonder what they’ll sound like coming together....
I attempt once more to wash away whatever it is about him that’s got my head fucked up.
It’s not like he’s the first attractive male that I’ve ever been around. It’s not like I secretly love looking at the men’s asses during basketball games or have been stifling my same sex tendencies because I give a fuck what society has to say. No. I just love women….Well one woman, even if she never loves me again.
“I asked you a question,” Hudson pushes. “When’s the last time you fucked your wife?”
“About eighteen months ago when I could still fucking walk.” The bottle drifts back towards my lips. “Happy now?”
“No,” he sighs heavily. “I’m pissed.”
“What?”
“You haven’t fucked your wife in any way in over a year?”
The irritation in his tone stuns me silent.
“Not a finger bang? Not a mouth fuck? Not even a little buzz assistance from her new age toy box?”
“She doesn’t have a vibrator.”
“And I think that makes you an even bigger asshole for not getting her one.”
Bewildered by his bluntness and brazen approach to the subject of our sex life, I bite, “Who the fuck are you to come into my house and judge me about the way I handle my shit?”
“You mean don’t handle your shit,” he corrects with a condescending point of his finger. “Because if you were handling that shit she’d be getting off every night, and you wouldn’t be sulking like a little bitch in front of me every time you think about me tapping that ass.”
Anger runs rampant through my system. “One word from me and you’ll never see a fucking glimpse of that pussy.”
All of a sudden , Hudson lets out a cocky chuckle. “That must be the man Gwenny’s been telling me about.”
My jaw tumbles to the ground speechless.
“I’m glad he came out because I’ll admit it, I was beginning to think she was fucking delusional.”
I press the bottle to my lips and allow the liquid to drown the unexpected emotions.
Why the fuck did I let him get under my skin? What is it about him that makes me wanna talk and fight and fuck? My own wife hasn’t managed to get me to be this social in months. What kind of asshole does that make me to let a complete stranger just barge in and bully me into it? From the first night he showed up he has an unusual ability to bring out the old me. The forgotten me. The me that would put him six feet under for even looking at my wife for too long.
“You really do need a friend,” Hudson states as I finish my beer.
“I don’t need shit.”
“Too fucking bad. That’s what you’re getting anyway.” He reaches for one of the unopened beers and hands it to me. “You wanna watch Die Hard or keep watching this animal shit?”
After placing the empty bottle down, I mumble, “Die Hard.”
Hudson gives me a wink, and my heart misses a beat.
Obviously, I’ve either had too much beer or not nearly enough.
Time passes quicker than I realize while hanging out with Hudson. The way he constantly keeps his mouth running I’m surprised it doesn’t just fall off. Thankfully, he edges away from the personal interrogation about my marriage with Gwen and spends more time naming off his favorite action movies of all time. At some point, not only do we run out of beer and switch to whiskey he found in the liquor cabinet, we order pizza, and toss on Terminator 2. We quote along in between sharing our mutual love, hate relationship with the old Arnold.
After an explosion scene, Hudson hits me with, “What’d you used to do in construction?”
“Mainly operate machinery, but I was a jack of all trades type of man.”
“How’d you get hurt?”
“Some idiot fresh out of diapers spilled some shit, and I slipped. Hard hat saved me from severe brain damage, but I still got injured. I was out for four days cold. In fact, I don’t even fucking remember the accident or anything leading up to it. It’s just what I’ve been told, and what was listed on all the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
I finish the bit of whiskey in my glass. “Yeah. They offered me a settlement to keep me from suing. They’d pay for all the medical bills, therapy, and house renovation as well as a monthly sum for five years.”
“Fuck. They really didn’t want you to sue.”
When I turn to face him, I notice the concern planted on his face.
Why the hell does it look like he really cares when he doesn’t know shit about me! I could’ve been a wife beater and an alcoholic before the accident. Did it ever cross his mind that maybe I deserved this. Maybe this was some sort of fucked up karma for being a shitty person. I mean it wasn’t. I’d rather give my left non-functioning nut when it was functioning than ever lay a hand on Gwen. I’m not that kind of man, but he doesn’t know that.
Damn it.
I want him to know that. I want him to know how I’d hike to the top of any mountain just to shout to the world my love for Gwen. That I’d lay down my life for her without being asked.
Why? Why do I need him to know that? Why do I give a shit what he thinks?
I clear my throat to avoid adding anything extra to the conversation. “Pretty sure we could’ve sued, but this route seemed better for everyone. We were already going to have our hands full for however long recovery took, why add the stress to Gwen? Why drag her through having to deal with taking care of me and a lawsuit and her company, ya know?”
Hudson gives me a slow nod. “So the accident, it broke your legs and your dick?”
“Just the legs and feet. Dick broke itself.”
He grabs the bottle of whiskey and begins to refill my glass. “What the fuck do you mean it broke itself?”
“It means I can fucking piss on my own, but that’s where the cock train stops. Doctors say I’m physically capable of getting a hard on. That my dick has all the working pieces. That it’s a mental block.” I take a drink of the freshly poured whiskey. “They’re full of shit. Just lazy bastards tired of running tests to try to figure me out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, ‘cause there’s no fucking way in hell it’s a mental block. You’ve seen how fucking hot Gwen is with her clothes on. Wait ‘til you see her without. No functioning dick in this world could resist.”
“Could if it didn’t like chicks,” Hudson counters on a sip.
“Even a gay guy would worship my wife’s body. It’s that fucking amazing.”
Thoughts of Gwen’s curves begin a hostile takeover of my mind, and the alcohol makes my defenses weak. Visions of her luscious tits and ass flouncing around this house have me mentally groaning to have any piece of her I can in my mouth. To have my hands gripping onto her thick, muscular thighs while I lap at the sticky sensation between them. It never took more than one hungry stare from me to make my wife wet. Fuck, I loved how responsive she was to me.
Being lost in the memories of taking her as often as possible causes me to almost miss Hudson’s question, “If it’s so fucking amazing why don’t you worship it anymore?”
I sneer and lift the glass back to my lips.
“Don’t puss out on me now. You’re the one hyping shit up about how fucking amazing her body is, but you haven’t touched it or even fucking looked at her naked in what? A year? Maybe more? Which means either you’re full of shit and her body is alright or-”
“I hate looking at her because it reminds me of what a fucking failure I am. How I’m not a real man any more. How I can’t do any of the basic shit a man should do for his wife. Can’t provide for her. Can’t protect her. Can’t fuck her. Can’t even lift heavy shit or grab something from a high shelf. I don’t look at Gwen anymore because this chair is reminder enough of what a useless human being I am. A rolling disappointment. I really don’t need another.”
All of a sudden heels hitting the hardwood darts our attention to the hall.
Gwen rounds the corner with a black work bag slung over her shoulder, her straightened, long brown hair pulled to one side of her caramel colored face, and her body displayed in a purple sweater dress.
Damn, I used to love winter as much as spring and summer. Gwen has always had a fondness for dresses. What man wouldn’t love easy access? Only reason I loved winter more than the other two seasons is because in winter Gwen’s dresses were always tighter…and the boots…fuck me, the boots were always so hot high in the air.
“Why does the living room look like a freshman dorm?” she teases.
A smile threatens my face.
A smirk whispers to hers.
Pathetic we haven’t exchanged pleasant expressions in months.
“Jealous?” Hudson chuckles placing his glass down.
“That I had to spend the afternoon with Madame Wax Museum while you two got to sit around and watch….” Her eyes cut to the flat screen mounted on the wall. “Is that Terminator?”
“Two.” We correct in unison.
She shakes her head, smile on the cusp of making itself known. “Definitely jealous. Pizza and a good ‘90s action flick beats haggling with Cruella Deville over a stupid vase.”
Hudson chuckles, and I watch her eyes land on him. The brown stare that’s spent the past six years lighting up at the mere sight of me, even now when I barely acknowledge she exists, beams his direction. There’s a soft longing to it. A hidden vulnerability I’ve never seen her so much as flash at another person.
Jealousy jabs joy creating another round of conflicting emotions.
What man wouldn’t want to make his wife happy? What man wouldn’t be pissed it wasn’t from him? What kind of fucked up person is grateful to share the stare with someone who might actually be worthy of it? And what kind of person am I for sending Hudson the same fucking glances since he walked through the door a few hours ago?
Gwen’s eyes momentarily swing to me, and I love the fact the glisten is still there. That she hasn’t replaced me with him. Her attention directs itself back to Hudson. “Well, I’ll let you two…enjoy your time together.”
“You can stay,” Hudson promptly insists. “We’ve got plenty of whiskey.”
“More of a wine girl. Moscato to be exact.”
“Grab a glass then and join us,” he pushes. “There’s pizza.”
She hits him with a playful sneer. “With pineapple?”
“Pineapple belongs on a pizza!”
Gwen rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but lightly laugh at their interaction.
They’re both so…full of life. Full of energy. I don’t deserve to be here. Once again, I’m not bringing shit to the table.
“Didn’t you just have pizza like three days ago?”
Hudson reaches for a slice. “And?”
“And as an adult who is next door to thirty-one, not twenty-one, don’t you think you should eat other things?”
After he swallows, he gives her a shrug. “I eat what I like.”
I take a long look at him before questioning, “You don’t know how to cook do you?”
“Not a clue.”
The three of us engage in a round of laughter that startles us all in different ways.
Gotta give him that. I haven’t allowed myself to laugh this much in months.
“Good thing Gwen’s an amazing one.”
My casual comment causes her jaw to slightly crack open.
Has it really been that long since I paid her a compliment that she’s shocked? Fuck….She really does need Hudson around. Maybe once they’re officially together, I’ll find a way to ease myself out of this. Just become the houseguest they occasionally feed.
Hudson shoots me a wink, and my heart kicks hard in my chest again.
God, I want them both.
No.
That’s just the booze.
The very expensive, goes down smooth whiskey I don’t remember buying.
“I um….” Gwen’s voice struggles to start. “I’ll just have a quick salad or something in the kitchen.”
He attempts to argue once more. “But pizza….”
“Not a big deal. I should probably eat healthier anyway. My trainer’s already up my ass about my fat to muscle ratio.”
Hudson grunts, “Fuck your trainer.”
Agreed.
She uncomfortably shifts her weight. “You two are clearly having fun together. You don’t need me interrupting. It’s fine, guys. I’ve got a book I can read and-”
“Just get a glass of wine and join us,” my mouth runs off leaving my brain’s objections far behind.
She lets her jaw tumble to the ground again as our eyes connect.
The sight of hers swarming with confusion, concern, and hope has my body tensing to stop from rushing over there to wash it all away.
How fucked up is our marriage when my own wife doesn’t expect to be invited to watch a movie with me?
Guilt coats my tongue at the same time Hudson inserts himself into the situation. “You heard the man…or maybe our man?” The mirth in his tone dissipates the tension in the room. “I don’t know the correct terms for shit. Labels were never really my thing. Either way. It’s settled. Get a drink, come eat luke-warm pizza, and watch Arnold in his prime.”
Gwen offers us both a faint smile and nod. “Alright. Let me get changed and-”
“No,” my denial is instant. “You look good just like that.”
“And that’s not just the whiskey talking,”Hudson backs.
The smallest color fills her cheeks, yet she immediately tries to brush it away. “Probably is for both of you, but I’ll take it.”
She smirks, lifts her head a little higher, and struts out of the room, her ass taking my attention with it.
“Want me to drop the remote on the floor, so she has to bend down in front of you to pick it up?” Hudson pokes. “It’ll get you a better view.”
I sharply turn my heated face back to the movie.
Can’t believe I was just caught ogling over her. Not that I’m ashamed. I just…that’s not my fucking place. Especially when I can’t even offer her proof that I find her as fucking sexy as I always have, if not more. Her ass looks even rounder and perkier than I remember.
It doesn’t take long for Gwen to return to the living room. Initially, she eyes the seat on the couch furthest from me, but Hudson scoots to the side and motions for her take the place between us.
She sits, crosses her leg, but refrains from leaning against the arm rest. Stops herself from getting too close to me.
I push down the knot in my throat with another gulp.
It’s my fault. There’s no one to fucking blame for this shit except me. I put the line in the sand. It’s my dick that stops us from being a normal couple. It’s my fucking accident that ruined our lives.
“You know, I’m an action movie connoisseur,” Hudson tosses out at the same time he extends his arm along the back of the couch behind Gwen. “Personally, prefer the old school shit, but I will say I’ve got a not so secret fetish for The Fast and The Furious franchise.”
Gwen giggles from behind her glass of wine. “Is it the cars or the women?”
“Both.” Hudson retorts on a chuckle. “What’s not to love? Half dressed women. Adrenaline filled stunts. When they blow shit up?! Who the hell doesn’t love a good explosion?”
She shakes her head, smile still lingering. “You’re like a thirteen-year-old trapped in a thirty year old’s body, aren’t you?”
He nods at the comparison while I laugh under my breath.
The sound catches Gwen’s attention, and I let it.
I want her to see I can be normal…or at least normal enough to have a conversation with the man who is going to irreversibly change our lives one way or another. Even if he never sleeps with her, hell, even if Gwen and I never have more than this one moment together, he still gave us this. He still bridged a broken unity I stopped having the balls to even put effort into. I don’t wanna compete with him for Gwen, but at the same time I don’t want him to have her all to himself. Oddly enough, I don’t want her to have him all to herself either. He’s easy to laugh with. Talk shit to. I haven’t talked to anyone outside of Gwen, the doctor, and the physical therapist in so fucking long. Sympathy bullshit got old. Fast. People stopped treating me like an adult man and started coddling me like a sick infant. Hudson’s yet to even look at me that way. Maybe that’s why I like him. Maybe that’s why I wanna be a part of whatever it is we’re trying to cultivate. Or maybe I’m too drunk and don’t wanna admit it.
Hudson steers the conversation back on topic except this time, he asks us both questions to join in. He keeps the whiskey flowing as well as the conversation. While Gwen only makes it to the bottom of her one glass, we end up emptying the bottle we had been sharing. Laughs continuously flood the air alongside shitty sound effects from the movie we picked to proceed Terminator 2, Commando.
Everything between the three of us has an effortless nature to it. A smooth vibe too perfect to ignore.
This shouldn’t be this easy. None of this should feel this good. This right.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hudson’s arm has lowered to Gwen’s shoulder. His thumb is stroking it slowly. Softly. Her reaction seems to deter between wanting to enjoy the touch and fleeing from it. Unable to look away, I watch him abandon the movie and settle his focus completely on her. A short moment passes before Gwen turns towards him. There’s no hesitation in his next move. His mouth captures hers with so much power it hitches my breath. The moan she releases in result is deafening.
I haven’t heard that sound is a very long time….
My attention remains rooted as Hudson’s tongue slips into her mouth.
The instincts inside begin clashing so hard I can barely breathe.
I wanna get the fuck out of his chair and yank him off of her by his neck. I wanna toss him into the flat screen and threaten to drag him straight to hell if he even looks at her again. I wanna be the only man in the world she makes that sound for….
Hudson’s free hand lands firmly on her cheek to keep her glued to him.
His grip should be on my neck or shoulder. Keeping me in place. Keeping the two of us together. I wanna know if his tongue is a lazy roller or if he’s willing to fight for control.
My fingers fold tightly together, tense body pleading with me to divert my attention elsewhere.
Why the fuck do I find this stimulating? Why the fuck am I enjoying watching his hand abandon her cheek and trail down the front of her chest? Why am I dying to tell him how she likes her nipples tugged just like she likes her hair? Why do I like seeing them together?
Hudson pulls back leaving Gwen slightly panting. His eyes lock onto mine searching them for approval or objection.
Like I’m no longer in control of my body, I give him a nod and wet my lips.
Why the hell am I just as anxious as my wife?
His fingertips lower to her nipple and the resistance returns.
Her hand moves to stop him when mine flies to intervene. The voice is mine even if I don’t recognize it. “Let him.”
My eyes meet hers to see a very palpable struggle between shame and desire.
She has nothing to be ashamed of. She’s sexy as hell and deserves to have someone who reminds her of that, who is willing to provide her with that reassurance on a regular basis. She shouldn’t have to suffer. Living with me in this condition already steals enough from her, from her existence. She should enjoy the hands on her if she wants them there, even if they’re not mine.
Hudson’s voice quietly commands, “Open your legs, Gwenny, but keep your eyes on Jason.”
The advancement conjures the clamoring of contradictory feelings once again.
I want him to touch her. I want her to come. I want her eyes on me as we all embrace the power we seem to naturally have over one another.
Gwen initially hesitates, but the moment my fingers wind though the back of her hair to give it a tug backwards, her inhibitions shatter. She gasps loudly, once from my pull, then once more at the invasion of Hudson’s fingers. Her brown eyes burst with a newly discovered greed while her whimpers echo like a fucking battle cry. My heart pounds harder at the sight of her bottom lip falling. At the salacious sounds of her wet pussy being thrusted into. At the realization that I’m enjoying this more than I know I should.
With her eyes still under my control, I watch her erotic glaze grow unruly. The familiar warning sign of a pending orgasm has me whispering, “She’s close.”
There’s a pleased groan out of Hudson. “Fuck, I can feel it.”
Gwen’s expression starts to tilt towards uncertainty again, but I tug her face slightly closer to me. “Come for us, baby.”
The words are the key to her submission. My wife lets out a heavy moan as her body begins to fiercely tremble. Her eyes struggle to stay open, which calls to the savage inside of me to yank on the strands of hair in my possession. Each pull is in perfect rhythm with Hudson’s pumping. Together, from opposite ends, we tear her apart until she’s loudly pleading for mercy.
Hudson’s first to respond. He slips his two soaking wet fingers out of her and sucks the juices off his thumb. He groans again, but this time the sound ignites envy. Uncertain if it’s because it was his fingers she came on or the fact her flavor is now dancing on his tongue, I grit my teeth in frustration.
His cocky smile I am beginning to find obnoxious yet invigorating returns in full force. He leans over Gwen’s still heaving body with his glistening fingers extended. “Taste her.”
My eyebrows dart into the air. “Wh-”
“Taste. Her.”
I give his wet digits a skeptical glance prepared to deny the offering when Gwen’s voice implores, “Please.”
Our eyes meet again and this time, I see more than I did before. I see the need. I see the desperation to no longer feel like she’s a disappointment, like she suddenly isn’t enough for me.
My mouth cracks open to allow Hudson’s fingers entrance. The moment the sensation is swarming around my tongue, I growl in surprising possessiveness.
This is more than tasting my wife’s pussy. This is sucking in her surrender to someone else. Swallowing acceptance in the fact I am no longer the only man who’ll provide her pleasure in the future. I roll my tongue around until they’ve been licked completely clean. Afterwards, my attention lands on Hudson who is shamelessly panting. I expect to be taken back, to have my body fly away from his, and remind everyone I’m not into men, but can’t. Something about the sight of him turned on has me wishing my dick worked so I could put it between those lips. So I could give him another reason to moan.
Slowly, I remove his fingers and try to brush away the building bitterness.
We can’t do this again. It already feels like shit not being able to satisfy one person. I don’t need to feel even worse knowing I can’t satisfy two.