“A gold giraffe statue with onyx eyes?”
“Yes.” The thin man sitting in the office chair across from me sighs, eyes still focused on his phone. “I have exhausted every resource I have to find this statue, but nothing. No one has found a clue in regards to who might have it in their current possession and the trail seems to have fallen ice cold as far as who might’ve taken it. I was told if I want the impossible located to contact you. That you can find anything.”
Anything except how to wrap up this conversation apparently. I was hoping to leave the office early today. Unlike last year’s Valentine’s Day, which I dreaded, I can’t wait to celebrate. Besides it’s not only a romantic holiday, but our one-month anniversary as a couple. Throuple? Is there a word for a three people relationship?
My lack of retort causes his eyes to finally lift. “Well. Can you?”
I present him a cocky smirk that would make Hudson proud. “I can.”
His face twitches concern. “But?”
“But the price has to be right Mr. Edgar.”
“Laurence.”
The lack of repeating his first name seems to gather more of his attention.
“And what exactly is the right price, Gwendolyn?”
“Mrs. Kincaid.”
Surprise flashes across his face.
“You made an appointment for my help. You are sitting in my office. You will respect my presence as an equal rather than a servant you plan on throwing a few grand at to get a chore done.”
An impressed expression appears.
“I pick the price based upon the task once I’ve agreed to take on the challenge. You will sign a few documents, including a NDA, which prevents you from discussing the details of my business or how it is conducted. You will show up at my office only when requested, but will be kept in contact as needed during the retrieval of your lost possession. However, due to the lack of respect you have shown me since you walked through my door, I am reluctant to take your case.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Kincaid.” He swallows his building anxiety. “I didn’t realize-”
“That you wouldn’t be dealing with a pushover? That I didn’t get to where I am by letting people like you walk on me like they do their Yolandaz rugs?”
Laurence’s cheeks redden.
“I’ll take your case for an additional non-refundable fee.”
“Of how much?”
“Ten grand.”
“Done.”
Folding my hands on top of my unusually shaped desk, I question, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
His forehead wrinkles briefly. “My wife would love to add a Tucker Frost piece to our collection.”
The name rings a bell though I’m not certain why.
“The problem is, he doesn’t create for profit, merely for family.”
“Ah. His artwork is what hangs in some of the Frost Luxury Hotels, correct?”
“Precisely. And every time we see one she begs management to let her purchase it, but they aren’t for sale. Indefinitely.”
I nod my understanding at the same time I type a note on the tablet beside me. “And how much are you willing to pay for a painting?”
“I’d like to keep it under a million.”
“Including my finder’s fee for the painting?”
“You’re going to charge me an additional fee on top of the other one?”
“Unless you would like the price doubled for both I suggest you lose the attitude in your tone.”
He promptly clears his throat, tempting me to smile at the power shift he is loathing. “Under a million for just the painting. Under twenty five percent for your…finder’s fee of it.”
Like I can hear the cash symphony warming up, I smile, add the details, and meet his eyes once more. “Perfect. I have all your contact information on file. I’ll have the official papers drawn and be in touch.”
Laurence slowly stands. “Sooner rather than later I expect.”
He doesn’t wait for a retort before exiting my office.
I rather enjoy making men like him squirm. What I love more is charging them outrageous prices for pissing me off. Sometimes I actually do need the amount high enough to cover my sources around the globe, other times, like today, I do it as a not so gentle reminder that they can’t treat everyone who works for them like shit. Putting their egos in check occasionally gets me a bit drunk with power, but like any good buzz, I know my limit.
As quickly as possible, I lock away the stacks of files I had been rifling through before Laurence arrived, shut down my computer, sneak a candy treat, and tuck my tablet into my work bag alongside my laptop.
Unfortunately, the moment I’m practically finished, Ronnie comes prancing into my office waving a white envelope in the air. “You’ve got hand delivered mail….”
I slide the bag onto my shoulder and make a gesture for him to put it in my possession.
Ronnie gleefully places it in my palm. “Is it a love letter?”
The blankness has me weary to open it, yet I don’t show it. “From who Ronnie? Who would write me a love letter?”
My words barely have time to leave my lips before I have the answer to that question floating on the tip of my tongue. Hudson. Hudson would write me a love note like this, though it would be filled with poorly executed sexual references, and he would command an A for effort. Sadly enough, I’d give it to him. Over the past month I’ve come to realize Hudson might need us the same way we need him, which is so much easier to swallow than having someone with all their shit together come into your marriage. Three fucked up people are a bit more equal and on the same playing field than two fucked up people and one person who has life already figured out. The more time we spend together the more I see none of us do despite how hard it is we’ve tried in the past. We’re developing an unusual flow that wouldn’t work for most people, but that I’m beginning to see definitely works for us. Jason needs a friend. Hudson needs stability. I need...well, more positive human interaction. Dealing with rich assholes day in and day out, who attempt to treat you like a disposable device rather than a person, can wear on much more than your ego, especially when there’s no one at home to remind you that you are more than just a handy tool only to be used when all else fails.
I examine the envelope for a moment longer before proceeding to open it. The contents inside causes my smile to appear and actions to return to their haste. “I gotta go.”
“What’s in there?” He whines loudly.
Grabbing the keys to my car from the side pocket of my bag, I inform, “The gift I’m giving for Valentine’s Day.”
Ronnie’s eyes widen in curiosity. “Oooo things must be going better with the hubby if you’re getting him a gift this year!”
There’s no urge to correct. No desire to fill him in on the unorthodox situation we’ve cultivated. I’m not ashamed despite the natural thought to be. I’m not cheating on the man I love. I’m not lying to him. I’m not hiding anything. Hell, the most sexual thing Hudson’s ever done without him around is kiss me. And while I was mentally begging for more we seem to have silently established an agreement not to allow for it to happen without Jason’s approval. Without Jason’s inclusion. At least not yet. I think at some point that’ll change, that we’ll all be more comfortable about what happens out of one another’s view, but for now I am content with what we all have, including the shift between me and my husband. After a couple of forced outings, in which they still refuse to tell me where they went, Jason has begun to talk to me more. He’s not sharing his daily frustrations or anything of emotional depth, but he says more than good morning now. His texts are longer. His attitude slightly warmer. He even kisses me hello and goodbye…on the cheek. It’s not exactly the jack pot of intimacy, but fuck it. I’ll enjoy whatever I can get. A year of having my husband treat me like the enemy taught me an unwanted lesson in gratitude. It’s important to appreciate everything you can. You never know when it could be gone.
I don’t respond to Ronnie’s comment, but rather let him fling himself into a rambling tangent about the pending evening. He follows me out to my car while going on and on about his hatred for the holiday, and how his desperation for a date on this day has him either bed hopping for the night or drowning his sorrows in pink wine.
The combination of leaving the office late and unpredicted traffic has me flying through the front door with apologies ready to fall from my mouth. However, they instantly vanish when I round the corner into the living room. Seeing both men dressed up for the evening unexpectedly renders me speechless.
“Hey!” They coo in unison.
It takes a brief moment before I manage to swoon, “You two look handsome….”
Both men respond with the same blushing expression.
My smile widens as I take the time to drink them both in. Hudson has on a black on black suit without the tie, while Jason has on dark jeans I haven’t seen him wear in ages and a black button up shirt. Hudson’s neatly groomed scruff is expected, but Jason’s completely clean-shaven face isn’t.
Before I can stop myself, I croak at Jason, “You shaved.”
He nods enthusiastically.
“And showered,” Hudson adds with a teasing smirk.
I swallow the lump of jealousy building in my throat. My eyes meet Hudson’s. “He…he let you help him shower?”
Hudson cuts Jason a glance, which redirects my eyes to my husband’s.
He puts up such a protest when I help with the task, you would think I was trying to declare war on third world infants.
Masking the hurt in my tone is impossible. “You let him help you shower?”
Hudson immediately commands, “Tell her why.”
The two begin to exchange in a nonverbal debate that has my eyes bouncing back and forth. Eventually, Hudson wins, and Jason meets my eyes as he declares, “Because…it doesn’t make me feel weak.”
My jaw tumbles to the ground unsure of what to say.
A heavy sigh leaves him. “You…are…my…wife. Looking helpless…feeling feeble in front of you makes me feel like less of a man.”
His additional statement has my shoulders defensively tightening. I prepare to jump off the deep end and chew him out for how ridiculous he sounds when I catch the stern expression Hudson is shooting me to reconsider.
This is the first time he’s ever admitted anything like that to me. Even back when we still talked and it felt we were battling this together, he never confessed something of this magnitude. No. He wore the stone cold “man” face, gritted through the pain, and proclaimed he would be fine on his own. This is new….This is…relationship changing.
I toss out my initial response and softly state, “I respect your feelings.”
Jason’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion.
“I may not agree with them, but if that’s the way you feel, then it is my job as your wife, your partner, to respect them.” My heart tries not to race as I continue. “The last thing I would ever want is for you not to feel man enough for me or any less amazing than I find you, so…if having Hudson help you shower and shave prevents you from feeling that way, I stand behind your decision. He can help do that for you whenever he’s here or available.”
Or doesn’t cancel last minute. An annoying habit he needs to work on.
My husband’s green eyes begin to glisten in what can only be gratefulness. Whether it’s over my understanding or Hudson’s push to have him communicate with me doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about right now is that we keep repairing the damage done. That we keep healing our marriage.
“Should I go change?” I innocently ask unsure of what the plans are.
“Yes,” Hudson answers with a mischievous grin. “Not that you don’t look fucking hot in that.”
Rolling my eyes, I begin to move for our bedroom when Jason’s voice stops me, “Gwen.”
“Yeah?”
“You should wear a purple dress. You always look really pretty in purple.”
His words wrap around my lungs and squeeze every last drop of air from them. Unable to conjure up a verbal response, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth, and acknowledge his request with a sharp nod.
The change from one outfit to another goes quicker than it ever has in the past. I slip into a short, purple dress that hugs my chest tightly, but hangs loosely everywhere else, and slide on silver accessories including a pair of peep toe heels. After touching up the natural make up look with just a smidgen of color, I strut back out into the living room to find the two of them arguing over something on the television.
Hearing the sport’s announcer state they’ll be answering a specific question when they return from commercial break, reminds me of the present waiting for them in my clutch. “Would you two like your gift now?”
Jason and Hudson turn their faces towards me in tandem, the dropping of their jaws in perfect harmony.
The intensity from not only one stare, but two, has my knees threatening to give out. While both have an apparent hunger thrumming through their eyes, their secondary gleams are much different from one another. Hudson’s is swirling with pride as if he can’t wait to parade me around the world as the woman he managed to get into his clutches, while Jason’s is pumping with pure disbelief. I wanna question it. I wanna ask if it is because he can’t believe how long it’s been since he allowed himself to really look at me, or if it’s because he can’t fathom me staying at his side for this many years, or something else entirely. Reading Hudson is like getting the old school version of a text message. It’s shorthanded due to laziness, but you always understand the general gist. Jason, post his accident, is more like the new complex version of texting where objects represent other meanings like eggplant for dick, and unless you’re willing to investigate a little harder or ask a million questions, you’re going to suffer for days in the land of decoding.
Hudson’s mouth moves, though it’s Jason who successfully speaks first. “You look beautiful….”
His compliment causes my breath to catch.
It’s been months since he said anything like this to me.
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely,” Hudson agrees with a predatory grin. “You naked under that?”
The question receives a quick glare from Jason until he realizes he’s wondering the same thing.
They both lift their eyebrows in request of a response.
“If you two behave you’ll find out later.” I add a flirty snicker and a wink.
“We’ll I’m fucked.” Hudson shrugs with humor in his demeanor. “Bring us home a win, Blondie, or it’ll be your fault my nuts are blue in the morning.”
Jason shakes his head with a similar playful attitude.
“Before we get going to wherever it is we’re going, I wanna give you both your Valentine’s Day gift.” I close the gap between us, pull the envelope from my clutch, and hand it to Jason.
He gives it a puzzling look, which is when Hudson makes a grab for it. Jason’s reflexes are quicker than Hudson anticipated by the pout on his face.
My husband tears open the envelope to remove two tickets.
“Courtside tickets to the Highland Hellcats game on Monday.”
Jason’s jaw bobs, and Hudson snatches the objects out of his hands. “How the hell did you get these?”
Cockily, I smirk. “Called in a favor.”
Jason’s face hardens. “What kind of favor?”
Ugh. Just because I’m now involved with another man in a sexual way doesn’t mean I’ve been whoring myself for work since he stopped crawling between my legs.
I bat away the instinct to voice my irritation. “One of the owners is a client. He offered the extensive gratitude in helping find his daughter a birthday present last year by giving me an open ended invitation for tickets during the season. He stressed that they won’t always be courtside, but when possible-”
“We have Hellcats tickets?!” Hudson croaks again. “We have fucking Hellcats tickets!”
The excitement spawns a smile on Jason’s face and relief in my chest.
It takes a moment, but Hudson inevitably asks, “Wait. Why are there only two?”
“Gwen hates sports,” Jason answers, eyes drifting to mine. “She only goes for the nachos.”
“So true.”
The three of us engage in a small laugh together.
Afterward, I state, “I know how much you both love basketball, particularly the Hellcats, so I figure this could be something you two do without me.”
Which I am still conflicted about. We all need time together as well as separate. There has to be trust or this whole thing is going to fail miserably. I honestly never thought sharing Jason would be this difficult, but then again, I never saw him actually opening up like he is.
“Don’t flake out on this.” I point a stern finger at Hudson. “You do and the only seats you’ll get from me in the future will require binoculars.”
“I won’t.” Hudson gives Jason a hard pat on the back at the same he says to me, “You definitely fucking win for best gift, Gwenny. I’m just paying for dinner tonight.”
“Where are we going?” I promptly ask.
“This little pizza bistro close to downtown. You two are going to love it.”
“I’d love it if you ate more than just pizza.”
He fakes his appalment. “Not cool, Gwenny.”
Our light laughter is unexpectedly interrupted by Jason, “I got you both gifts too.”
All of a sudden bewilderment sweeps through me once more.
Since the accident, I barely get acknowledged on holidays let alone gifts. For my birthday and Christmas last year he sent me an e gift card with the generic message attached. I didn’t want any type of tangible gift. What I really wanted was for him to just treat me like his wife or even a normal human being, but instead he dismissed that digitally.
“Come on,” Jason commands backing out of the space he’s occupying and wheeling himself the direction of the dining room.
The two of us hastily follow, intrigue being passed back and forth in our expressions.
He stops in the front of the liquor cabinet, looks at Hudson, and motions his head toward it. “Check the shelf.”
Hudson does as instructed, immediately locating the present. “No shit….”
“Last year’s anniversary bottle.”
I watch the two exchange a warm look.
“This was from the limited-edition batch.”
“Yeah.”
The awe in Hudson’s eyes is undeniable. “Thanks, Blondie.”
“You’re sharing so don’t get too fucking sentimental.”
“Celebratory shots after the Hellcats game?”
“Or drinks of disappointment if they lose.”
More laughter bounces around the room until Jason’s hand reaches for mine.
The air in my lungs completely disperses.
He simply smiles sweetly and uses his free hand to lead us into the kitchen.
I don’t have to be told where to look. My clutch holding hand presses the object to my lips to stifle the sob anxious to escape.
“I arranged them myself,” Jason announces proudly. “Hudson took me to the flower shop this morning after you left for work, and I created the bouquet with the florist. Picked only the best roses. The best lilies. The prettiest tulips.”
“Felt like I was going to grow a vag if we stayed in there any longer,” Hudson grumbles from behind me.
“I remember how much you used to love when I’d bring you home flowers.” My eyes meet Jason’s just in time to see him swallow his nerves. “Hope they’re okay.”
With tears strangling my vocal chords, I coo in a choked voice, “They’re perfect.”
His hand squeezes mine tighter and a tear tumbles down my cheek.
I don’t give a fuck if he can never make love to me again. This is the part of my husband I’ve missed so much. The one who remembers I like flowers. The one who puts the effort in. The one who reaches for my hand rather than yanks his away in disgust. Even if this whole thing with Hudson doesn’t work out, at least I’ve been given hope. And that’s more than I’ve had in a very, very, long time.
We watch with matching appalled faces as Hudson struggles with the slice of pizza he was challenged to eat.
Heaven By the Slice is one of Hudson’s favorite restaurants he informed us on the car ride over. He explained how he had been going since college, and how he’s such a frequent customer he even gets Christmas cards in the mail from the family who owns it. It’s a large restaurant with a quaint American, Italian atmosphere. Our reserved table is outside on the heated patio where there also happens to be a live band for the evening.
The way it works is a customer can order any combination of pizza they want by the slice. While they have traditional selections like what I’ve been enjoying, pepperoni and black olives, the two idiots I adore, turned what could’ve been a laid-back date into an awkward Man vs. Food competition between them.
Hudson finally swallows and pants his pain. “Challenge complete. Anchovies and jalapenos with salsa instead of marinara.”
“Your breath smells like hot ass,” I gag, reaching for my glass of wine.
Jason lets out a loud, deep chuckle so powerful neither of us can look away.
God, it’s so amazing to see the old Jason again. The one who loved to go out and be social. The one who lived life instead of loathed it.
“That was probably the weirdest combination I’ve had,” he confesses after downing most of his water. “Well played, Blondie.”
My husband cockily folds his hands in his lap. “I play to win.”
Their eyes lock, and Hudson smirks. “So do I.”
From behind my nearly empty glass I relish in the sexual tension bouncing between the two. Sometimes I wonder if they feel it and are denying it, afraid of letting themselves touch or be touched by a man, and then sometimes I wonder if they feel guilty because initially this should’ve been all about me in the sexual aspect. But I’m learning it’s not. Jason has needs even if he is denying me from meeting them. Maybe Hudson breaking him into talking is just the tip of the iceberg.
Hudson submits first and turns the conversation to me. “How was work today, Gwenny?”
“You know, same shit, different day.”
“What’s the strangest thing you ever had to find?” he questions with humor still in his voice. “Pair of ruby slippers or some shit?”
I hum to myself in brief contemplation. Unexpectedly, Jason’s hand lands on mine as he tosses out, “It’s gotta be the doll.”
Having his touch and his attention spreads goosebumps across my flesh.
Hudson immediately notices. “Cold, Gwenny? You want my jacket?”
My eyes drag themselves away from Jason’s initiated contact to reply, “I’m fine.”
“You sure, baby?” Jason echoes his concern.
Our eyes meet, and I can’t help the soft smile that crawls onto my face. “I’m sure.”
His thumb gives my forearm a loving stroke igniting the urge to cry again.
This isn’t gonna fly forever. I gotta get it together. If I become a babbling brook every time he makes the tiniest effort it could end up undoing all the progress by making him feel more guilt for prior neglect. I don’t want that. I don’t need that. We may not have a newly established relationship between just us two, but we do between us three, and maybe that includes recreating the connection we lost over the past year in front of someone else.
I do my best to steady my tone. “Jason’s right. It’s probably the doll.”
Hudson looks unimpressed. “A doll?”
“Oh, this creepy piece of shit was like hauntingly terrifying,” I inform. “Think like an Annabelle, Chucky hybrid.”
The horror appears.
“Yeah. It was a family heirloom that somehow managed to go missing, and I was christened with the unfortunate task to find out where.”
He shakes his head rapidly. “Fuck that.”
“After she showed me a picture, I was afraid the thing was gonna pop up from under our bed with a butcher knife.” Jason fakes a shiver, finger still gently caressing me. “It was crem da la creepy.”
“Where’d you end up finding it?”
“Somehow it had managed to go into a donation pile for a women’s shelter. The hard part was figuring out which shelter. Once that was accomplished, getting the doll was a piece of cake.” I finish the last of the wine in my glass. “She really was creepy.”
The three of us share a snicker. Afterward, Hudson asks, “How’d you even get into the Lost and Found business?”
“Used to work for an insurance company who basically tasked me with doing the same thing. I was damn good at my job and they knew it yet never wanted to acknowledge it, verbally or financially. It got to a point where I wanted more, so I went after it.”
My eyes swing back and forth admiring the awe in their stares.
“You really are somethin’,” Hudson mutters under his breath.
“You have no idea,” Jason quietly adds.
I pull my hair to one side of my heating face just as the music changes. “Oh….I love this song!”
“Wanna dance?” Hudson promptly offers.
Jason removes his touch and encourages, “Go ahead.”
Concern is instant. “Are you sure? Because-”
“Go.”
His expression and tone are united in firmness.
The soft goodbye kiss on his cheek I plant pulls a small sigh out of him.
Hudson whisks me to the dancing area closer to the cover band. His hands land on my hips at the same time I wind my arms around his neck. Our hips gently knock into one another on beat and we sing along to the cover of Prince’s ‘Kiss’ loudly. Hudson’s head enthusiastically moves along with every word making my smile grow wider.
It isn’t until the band has moved onto another cover of the beloved singer that Hudson speaks. “My aunt Lindsay actually bought a red Corvette because she loved this song that much.”
“My parents were huge music fans. My dad used to tour with some bands back in the day, playing sold out shows. He never told me which ones and it wasn’t until after he died, I actually believed him.”
“What happened when he died?”
“I found the photo albums.” The images come rushing back to me kicking up my smile another notch. “Growing up he wanted music to just be music. He didn’t want me to like one artist or another because he worked with them or because they were on the radio. He wanted music to move me and follow it wherever it went. My mom was the same way. There used to be songs she’d play specifically when my dad had pissed her off and songs she would play to remind him of a monumental moment in their lives. Like when they offically brought me home from foster care, they were playing Prince’s 1999 in the car, so every year until they died, they would play it for me while we ate Sock It To Me cake, which was the cake we had that day too.”
Hudson’s movements falter. “You were adopted?”
“When I was eight. No idea what happened to my birth parents, but never really cared. As far as I’m concerned Jim and Mae were my parents. They raised me. They loved me. They supported me from the minute they had me until their last days.”
He holds me closer, music almost nonexistent. “What happened?”
“Pneumonia.”
“For both?”
I reluctantly nod. “They were an older couple who never had kids of their own because Jim was always traveling. When he finally settled they were in their fifties, so they adopted. He caught the flu and within days she did too. Neither could shake it. Eventually it turned into pneumonia. Lost them both in the same week.”
His entire body stops moving. “Oh shit.”
“Not too different from Jason. His father died of a heart attack and mother from a stroke just a couple days later. He’s pretty sure the stress of his father dying was the cause, but doctors couldn’t exactly confirm the theory.”
A mixture of sadness and surprise sink into his stare. “So, you and Jason are the only family you both have?”
I hesitate to nod again, but do.
It’s one reason our severed connection hurts at the level it does. We’re all we have left.
He tosses my husband a look at the same time I do.
The battle between jealousy and acceptance on his face is so brutal my heart aches. I quietly sigh, “He looks lonely.”
Hudson acknowledges the turmoil with an immediate decision. “Then let’s get him home and remind him that he’s not.”
My eyebrows lift at the same time Hudson turns to give me a sly grin.
Desire to have them both giving me pleasure and using me to share theirs runs rampant. Hudson links our hands and leads us back to the table where he throws down a couple hundred dollar bills on the check.
Our bodies barely cross the threshold before they’re being tugged in different directions. Hudson’s eager tongue is conquering my mouth, enslaving my tongue with twirl after twirl while Jason’s hands are drifting up the back of my thighs. Each time I attempt to pull away to moan, to whimper, to express my excitement over the fact my husband is touching me the way I’ve missed, Hudson’s grip hardens, commanding the opposite.
Abruptly, he removes his mouth from mine and demands, “Drop the dress, Gwenny.”
My eyes widen in uncertainty until Jason’s gruff voice echoes, “Drop the dress, baby.”
I take a step back, gently toss my clutch, and undo the top of the it.
When the article of clothing hits the floor so do their jaws.
An odd empowerment begins to run through my veins from the way they are paralyzed at seeing me displayed in only a pair of high heels. My thighs press tightly together as my pussy aches from the increasing hungriness in their hazed eyes.
“Wanna taste that pussy?”
Hudson’s question causes a grumble out of Jason.
“You up for another challenge?”
Our attention lands on him yet he keeps his on my husband.
“I don’t think you can make her come twice before she makes me come once.”
Jason’s glare is instant.
“Prove me wrong, I’ll pay for the beer and shit at the Highland game. Prove me right and you better have lots of room on that credit card because I’ll be calling us an uber and drinking top shelf shit all fucking night.”
There’s no room for an objection from me.
My husband motions his head towards the living room. “Couch. Now.”
The three of us make our way into the dimly lit area and the moment we’re there Hudson’s mouth is back on mine. He keeps our mouths fused during the positioning process, which receives groans out of Jason. However, my mind isn’t given the opportunity to contemplate if it’s approval or opposition. Hudson’s forceful tongue movements have me falling towards an orgasm eruption, and I have to concentrate all my energy on not coming undone before I’m properly licked.
With me wedged between Hudson’s legs right on the edge of the couch, right on the other side of the arm, I assist in the unbuckling of his slacks. The sound of the zipper being lowered feels like it’s echoing in high definition. He takes the lead on pulling his pants down just enough to free his cock and allows me a minor moment to gawk.
His dick is slightly shorter than Jason’s, but much thicker. The few veins appear to be pulsating, ready to be worshiped, and the drop of pre-cum leaking from the head is tempting my tongue to stop wasting time.
Suddenly, there’s a long, languorous lick along the slit of my pussy, prompting me to release a sharp gasp. Before the noise has a chance to fill the air, fingers are wound tightly in my hair and tugging me down Hudson’s shaft. The unified groan ripples throughout all three of us.
My husband’s hot tongue feverishly moves to reunite with the muscles that miss submitting to it. His fingertips dig roughly into my ass cheeks as his mouth moves with a vengeance. Thoughtlessly my body rocks back into each thrust anxious for every stroke executed.
Hudson’s body however refuses to be ignored. His hips lift themselves to slide his cock further into my mouth. Torn between wanting to relish the assault on my pussy, and devouring the salty flavor covering my tongue, has me moaning in desperation.
“Fuck Gwenny, you don’t have to help me win….”
The reminder of the earlier bet turns Jason’s tongue into a ravenous monster.
His frantic actions spur me to begin a savage sucking that neither I nor Hudson was expecting. He groans louder. Yanks my hair harder. Thrusts the tip of his dick to the back of my throat like it’s trying to ring a bell for a prize.
Feeling it swell between my lips combined with a hard suck on my clit has me screaming for mercy. My first orgasm rips through me, wobbling my knees as well as my balance. Jason’s grip doesn’t budge from the force, but he hums his approval loudly. The muscles clamp down in praise while wet waves flood his taste buds.
“Fuck,” Hudson says in a shaky breath. “I wanna feel that shit again.” Both sets of fingers are now buried in my hair. “Make her fucking come again, Blondie.”
Jason groans and his sucking on my clit becomes even more unrelenting. The three of us develop an erotic oscillation that has me incapable of breathing. Every strong suck on my pussy has my mouth clenching around Hudson’s cock and him pumping faster. Our mutual need to bathe in pleasure has us each obsessed with crossing a euphoric finish line. Each movement is executed with an untamed passion. Each action anxious to consume every second of this moment with unrestrained purpose.
My husband gives my clit one last wiggle proceeded immediately with a nip. Another climax is exposed for the taking, and he buries his entire face in it. I mewl and shake and suck Hudson’s cock with the same magnitude that just destroyed the dry spell of my marriage.
“Fuck!” Hudson howls at the same time scorching bursts splash down my esophagus.
Eagerly I drink in the salty proof of his satisfaction and allow myself to suffocate in the endless ecstasy enveloping our existence.
Is it wrong to feel this fulfilled by someone other than just the man I married? Is there something wrong with me, with us, for no longer being able to handle our marriage as two? Is it wrong that every time we’re together it’s as if this is how it was always meant to be? I guess my real question is, if this is so wrong, why does our new unconventional way feel so right?