Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/n: Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. This story really is motivated by knowing that there are people out there enjoying it.
As Easy as Pie
A story by Ryeloza
Part Three: Double Cross
Chapter Three: Breakdown
Carlos pulled into his driveway, home from work before nine for the first time in over a week, barely noticing the jogger that darted across the sidewalk right before he parked. He was surprised a second later when he heard someone call his name, and when he turned around he realized the runner was actually Karl. "You're home late," he said, approaching Carlos. "Still avoiding the wife?"
"This is early for me," he said truthfully. "Are you running to get away from Susan?"
"Susie's out shopping with Julie. She'll eat too many of those cinnamon pretzels and pass out in a sugar coma." Carlos faltered for something to say and Karl just laughed. "Don't worry. That's normal. So…I have some good news."
"What?"
"Paul broke down last night."
"What? No. How do you know?"
Karl shrugged. "I ran into him earlier. He mentioned that he was out. You know what that means, right?"
"Yeah. It means I'm home free." Carlos grinned and patted Karl on the back. "That money is as good as mine. No offense, man."
"Hey," said Karl, sticking out a suspiciously nonchalant hand for him to shake. "May the best man win."
Carlos nodded and shook Karl's hand, almost feeling sorry for the poor bastard. In the past week, he had withstood the worst Gaby had had to offer; anything else she doled out now would seem like child's play by comparison. And there was no way Karl could last much longer. Tom, of course, wasn't even competition.
"Well," said Karl companionably. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Poker at Rex's."
"Sure. Be prepared to lose big time."
Karl laughed, slapped his shoulder, and jogged away, leaving Carlos to enter his house. The downstairs was dark, and Carlos dropped his briefcase a little nervously. It wasn't that late. Gaby couldn't be asleep yet. He found himself offering an anxious prayer that she'd gone somewhere—even if it was shopping—but he had a bad feeling that she actually lay in wait.
Carlos took the stairs slowly, cautiously making his way to his bedroom so he could put on his pajamas and relax. Then, just as he was about to enter the room, he heard it—a long, low moan coming from inside. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, not sure that he wanted to enter when Gaby so clearly had a new trick up her sleeve, but when his wife moaned again, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, he figured he had no choice. Reluctantly, he entered the room and then almost immediately wished he hadn't.
Gaby lay on the bed naked except for the ruby necklace he'd given her the night before. Her legs were spread wide open so he had the full view the second he walked in. In one hand she held the same vibrator she'd taunted him with the other night, thrusting it in and out of her pussy. The other hand grazed over her own body, squeezing her breasts, tweaking her nipples and then running down to rub her clit. Her head was thrown back against the pillow while she moaned and shrieked, her body writhing under her own ministrations.
"Holy crap," he mumbled under his breath. He felt like an idiot. Gaby could contort her body in ways that Russian gymnasts wished they could, her mouth was a godsend, and she used toys in a way most men only fantasized about. How the hell had he ever underestimated her skill at tormenting him sexually?
Frozen in place, Carlos could only watch as Gaby's hands moved faster and faster and she became louder with every passing second. Almost involuntarily, his hands drifted to his fly, unfastening the button and zipper so he could reach in and pull out his dick. He rubbed his hand up and down the length of himself slowly a few times and then as Gaby's back arched, he increased his speed. His imagination sped ahead of him, imagining that he was plowing his wife—that he was the one causing her to squeal and scream. With her only twenty feet away, it wasn't a hard leap of fantasy to make.
Gaby finished first, collapsing back against the bed and dropping her arms from her body so she lay like a rag doll. Carlos braced a hand against the doorframe, trying to increase the friction of his hand and push himself over the edge, but he wasn't anywhere near close enough. Unsurprisingly, Gaby caught her breath before he climaxed, and she sat up looking at him with gloating eyes.
"You want some help?" she asked.
Carlos shut his eyes, trying to ignore her, but that turned out to be a mistake. Before he could even begin to focus, Gaby's small hand covered his, stopping his movement and then physically pushing his hand away. Her own took its place, gripping his dick like a vice, and he opened his eyes and glared at her.
"Say it," she commanded. "You say it and I'll replace my hand with something much more pleasurable."
Carlos groaned. "No."
Gaby scratched her nails up the underside of his penis. "Come on, baby. Two little words and I'll be on my knees in front of you…my mouth on you…sucking…"
Oh fuck it, thought Carlos bitterly. It's so fucking worth it. "Fine," he said, glowering down at her. He let out a shuddery, angry sigh. "You win."
Gaby grinned and stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. "That's right. I win."
Tom glanced frantically around the room, not sure if he'd lit too many or too few candles. It couldn't be perfect, he rarely created a scenario that was, but he didn't have time to light any more. Lynette was probably close to finished tucking in the boys and he wanted to be ready to go when she came in. This was either the most brilliant or stupidest idea he'd ever had, but one way or another he was going through with it.
The door opened and Tom jumped before forcing himself to relax as Lynette came into the room. He was trying desperately to seem casual, but he wasn't sure he pulled it off: he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door with his arms crossed, watching her. "Tom?" she said. There was something in her voice that spoke of nervousness and laughter and interest. "What is this?"
"Take off your clothes."
Lynette stared at him. He knew that she was trying to figure him out—maybe not even so much what he was up to, but what his motivation was. At this point, Tom wasn't even so sure anymore. He knew that he was supposed to be toying with her, but as he watched the flicker of candlelight across her face, the entire world seemed to fall away. It was just him and her; nothing else mattered.
He didn't know whether Lynette could read his thoughts in his face or if she had something else up her sleeve or if she had just lost her mind, but after a moment she pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her bra followed, then her pants and underwear; Tom's breath caught in his throat and he struggled to find his voice. "Turn around," he finally managed to choke out, not quite as authoritatively as he would have liked, though Lynette followed the command without question. Feeling as though he was about to jump into a volcano, Tom took a deep breath and crossed the room to stand behind her. With trembling fingers, he placed a scarf over Lynette's eyes, knotting it behind her head.
"Trust me?" he asked unnecessarily; they wouldn't have gotten this far if she didn't. But Lynette nodded anyway.
Tom nodded too, mostly to reassure himself, and he put his hands on her waist, leading her to the bed and gently guiding her to lie down on her stomach. Then he took off his own shirt, squirted a generous amount of the massage oil onto his hands, and crawled onto the bed, kneeling beside her. Firm hands; strong fingers—the book had mentioned those two things using about a hundred different synonyms and Tom had gleaned that they were the most important to remember. He put his hands on her shoulders and began the massage. To his surprise, the strain seemed to drain from her body almost instantly, but as she relaxed, he became tenser. He felt like it had been a year since he'd touched her like this, not just two weeks, and he wasn't sure if he could do what he planned without breaking down. Trying to steady himself, he concentrated only on her back at first, taking several minutes to massage the soft skin and tight muscles there before venturing further south. Finally, he continued down her body, squeezing and rubbing her butt, thighs, calves and feet. By then, Lynette had given in completely; the little moans and sighs she kept emitting had made him stiff as a board. It could have been enough—he could have stopped there and found some way to take care of his own needs—but Tom felt some desperate need to see this through to the end.
Slowly he made his way back up her body, turning his attention to her right arm and rubbing it up and down. Then he lifted her arm so it stretched over her head and lowered his mouth to the inside of her elbow. He kissed her there, just a feather-light touch, and then continued to kiss all the way down her arm to her wrist where he pressed his tongue against her pulse point. From there he continued to her fingers, kissing the tip of each one before gently rolling her onto her back and repeating the entire process on the other arm. When he reached her shoulder, he took a deep breath and nuzzled his nose into the skin there, surprised when she ran a hand over the back of his head. For a second, he welcomed her touch, then he lifted his head away from her and turned his attention to her stomach, rubbing her skin there even more gently than he had her back. He continued down to her hips and thighs and then back up, dancing over her ribs and then to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. Lynette's breathing grew shorter—coming in short gasps and pants—and Tom smiled. Here it was: his moment to get her back. She was on the edge and all he had to do was walk away. But as he looked down at her, watching her tremble in pleasure from nothing but his touch, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He was going to go for the gold.
Barely touching her, he skimmed his hands down her body and finally reached the one area he hadn't touched. He took her labia between his fingers, honestly amazed at how wet she was, and began to pull on and rub and squeeze her lips. Lynette let out a squeal and her hands clenched the bedspread as she involuntarily moved her hips in circles. Tom spent several minutes just playing with her, watching her bite her lip and tremble, and then he moved his hand in for the grand finale. As he pressed down on her, running his thumb in circles, Lynette climaxed, a beautiful sight that Tom wasn't sure he'd fully appreciated in all the years they'd been together. When she finally settled, he sat back, grinning while she just lay there panting. It was several long minutes before she pulled off her blindfold.
"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" she asked breathlessly.
Tom raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Your book," he said, not even bothering to play dumb anymore. "You didn't get to that part?"
"I guess not." She sat up and crawled toward him, kissing his chest. "That's a great book, isn't it?"
"I'll say," said Tom, trying to ignore the way her hand ran up and down his arm. It was going to take a very long, frigid shower for him to get past this and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.
"I know about the bet."
Tom sighed, not stupid enough to deny it. "I know."
Lynette pulled back and looked up at him, waiting until he reluctantly met her eyes. She seemed surprisingly calm, but Tom wasn't sure whether or not it was just the orgasm. "I'm going to give you a choice," she said slowly. "You can stick with this bet and I promise to make this the least sexual marriage ever…"
He swallowed hard. "Or?"
"Or we act out page one fourteen in that book."
"Is that the part with where she does that thing with her tongue—"
"Uh-huh."
"—and then she lets him put his dick in her—"
"Uh-huh."
Tom paused. "But you never wanna—"
"Tom, this is a one time offer. Choose now."
He kissed her until he couldn't breathe and then pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. "It's only money," he whispered.
Lynette grinned. "Good choice."
