Right. Well, this one came about because a week or so after I posted Dangerous Illusion, lawand_disorder asked in her polite, British way, where the hell the other one was. As there wasn't 'another one', my response was 'huh?'.
This did not go over well. I was made to understand that there needed to be another one immediately, posthaste. Which means this is her fault — though she did heroically throw herself in front of it to beta read, which I'm eternally grateful for.
So . . . have another T&D fic. This is a sort-of, maybe, kind of follow-up/companion piece to The Dangerous Illusion of Fantasy, though you do not have to read one to understand the other.
I hope you enjoy the ride and please share your thoughts about it; I love hearing from you guys!
Disclaimer: This is an RPF which makes obvious references to real people, events, and situations. However, all references are made in a fictional context, are not intended to be libelous or defamatory, and any interpretation of real events is entirely imagined.
(Not So) Hidden Truths
Phil Christensen had never thought of himself as stupid.
Stubborn, determined, resourceful, intelligent, clever, certainly, and occasionally even a little arrogant.
But not stupid.
Finding out otherwise had been a very unpleasant surprise.
His divorce from Jayne Torvill — or, rather, hers from him, because it had been completely and totally both her idea and her doing — had been finalized one year ago as of today, and Phil thought that it had finally been long enough for her to get over her tantrum and see just how big a mistake she'd made in leaving him. This assumption was only strengthened by the total absence of anything publically printed or referenced that was about Jayne's personal life — not even about the divorce, which he'd found odd but also strangely reassuring, because that clearly meant she still cared for him. And the longer it went without her saying anything, about him or the split, the more certain he became that she regretted her hasty actions. He just had to wait until she'd swallowed enough pride to accept and acknowledge that she'd made a poor decision.
It wasn't easy, the waiting, because he missed the life he'd had with her, where he got to utilize his skills and talents as he saw fit while she supported him and let him manage her when it needed to be done, even during those eight blissful years where he had her all to himself — no skating that was literally her entire life, and no partner that she loved more than she loved her husband. It had been just the two of them, with him being first in her life instead of a distant third, like it should have been when they got married. He completely missed the fact that she was quite obviously depressed and coping badly with the loss of not just her vocation, her life, but also that of the partner who'd been by her side for more than half her life. She was finally his alone, and then the children came, and they were the perfect family.
They were. Everything was perfect.
And then . . . and then, Dancing on Ice was born.
The only reason he'd allowed her to do it was because he never thought in a million years that the show would actually succeed, much less become the smash hit it turned into . . . but then, he'd never understood the appeal of Torvill and Dean, and so he honestly couldn't fathom why that many people were so thrilled they were skating together again.
And yes, he would grudgingly admit that the showhad done wonders for the peace of his household, soothing a restlessness in his wife he hadn't known was there until it was tamed, but he had not appreciated the jolt it had given her, both personally and professionally — and that was on top of the joyous event that was the renewal of her partnership with Christopher sodding Dean (damn him), because once again, Phil became a distant third in her priorities — actually, no. The children were third, and then him, when she found the time to think about him. So he was beyond grateful that this was the final season for a whole host of reasons.
Which was the other main reason he'd chosen to approach Jayne now: with DOI ending permanently, she was about to have a lot of free time on her hands and would need someone to help fill it. And with her partner — but not her lover, despite his longstanding (and well-founded) suspicions — still living in the US, well . . . her (ex) husband was the obvious choice of companion, especially since he knew she wasn't dating anyone.
He'd kept a close, careful eye on the news and checked photos of her with more than a little obsessive regularity, because she hadn't left him 'just because' (and no, it wasn't that they'd grown apart and so had their love, as she'd claimed the night she left). No, there had to have been someoneelse — Chris, he'd bitterly assumed for weeks (twenty years), until Robin Cousins had discovered him skulking around the DOI studio one afternoon, trying to work up the nerve to talk to her (or punch Chris in the face, whichever happened first) and hauled him off to a bar, where Phil had had two extremely ugly home truths forcefully explained to him, along with unassailable proof that not only had Jayne and Chris never been lovers, but they hadn't wanted to be.
His angry, stubborn denial of these facts had been difficult to break through, but not only did Robin have a truly astronomical amount of patience, he'd grown used to working with and handling whiny, bitchy celebrities (and, frequently, their equally whiny, bitchy pro partners), not to mention Jason Gardiner, so he had no trouble with taking the time to explain things to Phil using words of one or two syllables. It was a testament to the strength of Phil's beliefs that he hadn't capitulated until Robin pulled out the PowerPoint he'd built for this very purpose (and would probably have to use on Karen soon, if his suspicions were correct).
It took several hours and a very nice bottle of scotch. For Robin, that is.
For Phil, it was one beer.
However, since even he would admit that Cousins had no reason whatsoever to lie to him about this — especially when his long, severe lecture was combined with the proof he'd provided, both as an eyewitness to certain things and having the ear of the skating world's rumor mill, plus his intimate, thirty-year knowledge of Chris and Jayne's characters — he'd been forced to accept this truth. But it had been done with such grudging, resentful reluctance that it had actually been absurd (the bar's employees, who knew only his side of things, actually felt sorry for the ex-wife halfway through), and then he proceeded to get blind drunk, because his entire worldview had been ruthlessly obliterated and he didn't know what the hell to do with that.
It had taken two full months for him to truly come to terms with the fact that he'd been so wrong about Jayne and her partner. And while he felt no guilt about his assumptions and accusations — he'd been there too, after all, and he knew damn good and well what he'd seen. It was the same thing literally every person who watched them had seen. There were a (hundred) thousand reasons the entire flipping world both thought and wanted Chris and Jayne to be a couple — he did know that he'd have to confess his change of opinion to Jayne before they could start the process of getting back together. It had taken several days and an admittedly ridiculous amount of practice in front of the mirror before he could keep his face free of his true opinion while he spouted the . . . well, to be frank, the bullshit he was going to have to say to her.
But he'd managed to do it.
So here he was, letting himself into her flat at 7 o'clock on a Tuesday evening, knowing she was off tomorrow and would be home shortly, lust and anticipation rising hard and fast at the thought of touching her after so long. Oh, their reunion fuck was going to be incredible; he had so many things he wanted to do and despite her general dislike of sexual experimentation, perhaps she'd finally let him, once she'd finished shouting at him. Actually, he was sure of it. She would be upset, of course, but also excited and feisty, and because her normal demeanor was so calm, so controlled, when she did truly get angry, that combination was explosive. And when he considered how much he was looking forward to it . . . they wouldn't make it to the bed, not for the first round and probably not the second, either; rare though it was, when Jayne wanted to fuck, things were hot and furious until she'd gotten it out of her system, and there was a lot for her to work out.
Ah, life was about to be so, so sweet.
He was jolted out of his heated imagination by the sound of keys ratting at the door and licked his lips, running a hand over his chest in a nervous tic that annoyed him, before schooling his features into a cool, neutral expression and putting his hands behind his back, forgetting to put down his water bottle as his thoughts sharpened and focused on the upcoming conversation. He fully intended to indulge Jayne's desires once their clothes started coming off, but until then, this was his show, and some ground rules were going to be established.
Just because he'd been wrong about her physical relationship with Chris didn't mean her behavior was acceptable and he had no intention of allowing the daily phone calls and constant touching and their infuriating, insular emotional entanglement to continue. It was her — their — actions that had roused and sustained his suspicions in the first place, and he'd be damned if he suffered that again. Jayne was his wife and it was long past time for her to understand that, and act like it.
And Christopher sodding Dean was going to understand it, too — and also start living the truth that Jayne belonged to Phil, not him.
The rumble of a male voice made him blink, but the sight of a man's hand pushing the door open had him freezing mid-step before his instincts made him scramble behind the small kitchen island, somehow managing not to drop his bottle of water — only to lose his footing and fall to his knees, bottle still clutched in his fingers and eyes wide with horrified disbelief, when his (ex) wife came through the door, walking backwards in small, uneven, stumbling steps.
Because she was kissing her male companion so hard that her grip on his shoulders was the only thing keeping her upright.
It took a bit for Phil to realize his mouth was hanging open.
Especially since it wasn't for the reason one would think.
Incongruously, what he'd really noticed first was that Jayne was wearing a pair of leather trousers so tight, so form-fitting, that they put even the hotpants from a few years ago to shame, and he could tell from across the room that she wasn't wearing underwear — despite the fact that his view was obscured by the man's hands possessively cupping and squeezing her beautifully-shaped, firm buttocks.
Then he lifted her a little off the floor and a soft moan that could only be hers broke the room's silence, and Phil's mind snapped from lust to rage so quickly, he got whiplash.
WHAT?!
What in the hell was happening?!
She was supposed to be waiting for him — no, she HAD been waiting for him. There hadn't been even the suggestion of a boyfriend in the last year and he would know. There had been no news, no photos, official or not, no press releases or announcements, and Jayne kept her private life quiet, yes — but not on a complete blackout; one just had to be willing to take the time to look, which he had. So the total lack of anything related to a new romance meant there wasn't one. She was single and clearly waiting either for Phil to come to her or the right time to reach out to him.
But she wasn't the type for one-night stands, so w—
The man in her arms slowly lifted his head and the entire world fell off its axis.
His (ex) wife was kissing Christopher Dean.
A red-tinged black haze descended over Phil's vision and he was halfway to his feet when the only man he'd ever hated cradled Jayne's face in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. The sight enraged him, all the more so because they looked completely comfortable that way, their mouths just a breath apart and their bodies wholly open to the other — but for some reason, it also stopped him in his tracks.
"Inquiring minds are curious as to how, exactly, you smuggled those trousers out of Wardrobe," Chris said huskily, sliding his hands back to her ass and cupping it so easily, so naturally, that Phil growled at the sight, feeling possessive rage swell up again even as he dropped back to a crouch, unable to interrupt this for reasons he did not (want to) understand.
"Do you really want to know?" Jayne said in reply, tilting her head back, her eyes crinkling in a smile Phil hadn't seen directed at him in years. Clearly caught off-guard by this, Chris blinked twice before something washed over his face, something that made Phil just a touch nervous.
"Can you do it again?" he asked, his voice husky, and her smile widened to a smug grin as she nodded.
"Then no, I don't give a damn," he said, squeezing her ass again and smirking when she moaned before grabbing his hair and pulling him into a rough kiss that had Phil choking behind his hiding place. Jayne hadn't been that rough and excited for him in . . . since she'd retired. "And I'm gonna screw you through this door now, if you don't mind," he added when she released him. He sounded a little breathless now, and Phil looked down, despising the fact that he could relate.
A sudden rustling sound, followed by a heavy thud, made him peek around the corner, unable to stop himself even though he really didn't want to know. He sure as hell didn't want to see this, but even though putting a stop to it would be as simple as standing up, he found that he couldn't.
He also didn't want to look too closely at that.
Jayne had apparently taken charge of things, if the surprised expression on Dean's face was any indication as he watched her relax against the door he obviously hadn't put her against. But he went with it eagerly, grabbing her thigh and pulling it over his hip, pressing into her and laughing smugly when she buried her face in his neck and groaned.
A bitter taste came to Phil's mouth as he watched, aroused and hating them both more with every passing second, but that hatred was overshadowed by a sudden, suffocating fear when Jayne's head lolled forward and she looked straight at him. Her eyes narrowed, but before he could panic that she'd somehow seen him behind the solid wood of the work station, Chris did something that she liked, because her eyes fluttered shut and she groaned again.
Only, instead of leaning into her partner — her lover — like both men expected, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him back. Before Chris could ask the obvious question, Jayne started yanking at his belt and a breathless laugh fell from his lips as he arched his back to give her better access.
Once she'd gotten the long strip of leather freed, she bit her lip and eyed her partner speculatively, making Phil swallow hard. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly very, very apprehensive about what was going on in his (ex) wife's mind.
"Do you remember the dressing room?" she asked, her voice throaty, and Chris paused for several seconds before nodding vigorously, causing her lips to quirk in pleased amusement. "Good," she purred, holding out her left hand and laying the belt across her wrist before putting her right hand under it as well.
Chris and Phil both froze, and for the same reason.
Phil could not believe what he was seeing. Was Jayne Torvill actually offering to let a man tie her up for a sexual game?
JAYNE?!
The same woman who wouldn't let Phil so much as blindfold her because she didn't see how that could possibly be enjoyable for either of them?
Chris wasn't any less stunned, as evinced by his choked gasp of her name.
The nonchalance when she shrugged enraged Phil.
"You looked like you enjoyed it when you couldn't move," she said, her voice still throaty but with the faintest hint of . . . uncertainty? . . . there as well. Chris choked again, but after a brisk shake of his head, he crowded against her, wrapping the belt around both wrists before bending to kiss her, deep and possessive.
"I certainly did," he rasped against her mouth after a long, breathless minute in which Phil found himself aroused and disgusted in equal measure by what he seeing.
But he still made no move to make his presence known.
"So, Jayne Torvill," Chris continued, his voice full of a dark passion that Phil understood only too well, damn him. "What do you want?"
She licked her lips again before stepping around her partner, walking purposefully to the settee, and prodding the cushions. Once she'd satisfied herself with whatever she was looking for, she slipped her wrists out of the belt and gave it to Chris, earning a confused look from both her partner and her (ex) husband.
Until she leaned over, resting her chest against the back of the settee and crossing her wrists behind her back.
For the second time in ten minutes, the world went sideways.
And then Chris fucking cackled, the sound full of lust and the kind of unbridled joy Phil hadn't experienced in so long, he couldn't have described it.
He would never know what kept him there, watching, as his imagination painted a vivid picture of him exploding from his hiding place to overpower Dean and prove to Jayne that he was the better man, the only man, for her, and her eager acceptance of that and of him as he took her in front of Dean, staking his claim and making sure he knew that Jayne belonged to Phil.
The sound of Chris sauntering over to his (ex) wife pulled his mind back to the present and he watched, seething, as her lover once more wrapped his belt around her wrists, his amusement darkening to desire as he did, and once she was secured, he took a single step back and tilted his head, clearly waiting for . . . something.
"I want you to do everything I showed you," Jayne sa—no, ordered her partner, giving him an arch look that somehow managed to convey complete authority in spite of her vulnerable position. "And then you're going to fuck me so hard I'll still feel you tomorrow and all your body will remember is being inside mine."
Chris sucked in a deep, harsh breath as he literally fought to stay on his feet, knocked completely off balance by her bold, blatant command and so obviously aroused that it was little intimidating, before he tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her savagely, greedily, looking like he was trying to climb inside her mouth so they could become one person. Her response was just as ardent, just as hungry, and a wave of heat washed over Phil as he pulled at his shirt collar in a vain attempt to ease the sudden tightness in his throat.
Everyone's eyes were glazed when she finally tore her lips free, and nobody was breathing steadily either.
Jayne caught Chris' bottom lip in her teeth and pulled it gently, making him groan, and her lips quirked into a small, very smug, smile as she moved her mouth to his ear.
"And once I'm satisfied, I'll think about letting you come," she almost whispered. A shiver of pure desire wracked Chris from head to toe as he grabbed her hands and closed his eyes, desperately fighting for control.
Phil swallowed hard, because that should not have sounded as hot or as erotic as it did, hating the erection trapped in his clothes and utterly despising Christopher Dean, because Jayne was just handing him Phil's deepest, darkest fantasy: complete control over her and her pleasure.
The fantasy he knew she was fully aware of, though he'd never, ever tried to ask her to give him, because there was no way on God's green earth that she would ever agree.
And he'd accepted that. He had. That kind of sexual play simply wasn't something she liked or was interested in.
Unless you were Christopher fucking Dean, and then all the rules just went out the window.
The sad thing was that he wasn't even really surprised. Hurt, yes, and furious, and so jealous he couldn't see straight.
But not surprised.
When even this didn't spur him into revealing his presence, understanding swamped him like a tidal wave. And for just a moment, he hated himself even more than he hated them.
Because he had to watch.
He had to know.
He needed to see who Jayne really was, since the woman he'd lived with for twenty-two years had been a lie, or a façade, or a mannequin, or—
Well, anything but the real Jayne Torvill, apparently.
And he was masochistic enough to want to know just what, exactly, she'd refused to share with him.
Chris pressed her chest harder into the settee and settled himself behind her, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders but not touching her and bracketing his thighs around hers to start a slow, rhythmic rocking that had her squirming and moving with him in no time, because of course their ability to move as one would carry over off the ice. She kept clenching and opening her hands, desperate for something to hold on to, and even from across the room, Phil could see the enjoyment Chris was taking in refusing to give her that little bit of relief.
Instead, he went out of his way to stoke her arousal, using nothing but his hips and his voice as he whispered nonstop in her ear, smirking at her restless head-tossing from whatever he saying as her movements got more and more frantic. When she suddenly tensed and then cried out, a long, wordless, broken sound of pleasure, Chris looked stunned as he eased back so he wasn't touching her at all, and then he and Phil both watched in awed appreciation as Jayne came down from an orgasm she'd gotten just from her lover's voice and fully-clothed frottage.
He hadn't even needed to kiss her.
Who was this woman? And why had she denied Phil the pleasure, the right, of meeting her?
"You — oh, Jayne, that was so hot, you are so hot, so sexy, and you are so, so beautiful, my love. And you are so eager for my touch. But I think . . . yeah," Chris rasped, leaning over so his breath skimmed her neck, making Jayne shiver and Phil twitch. But he still didn't touch her, despite her attempt to arch up into him. "You aren't anywhere near close to done, so I'm going to be nicer than you were on Saturday," he continued, finally pressing himself to her back and tearing a deep moan from her throat when he rocked against her. "I'm going to give you a choice."
Huh?
Jayne clearly understood, because she went still, tilted her head, and raised both eyebrows. But she said nothing, and Chris gave her a positively filthy leer.
"You can move all you want but you have to stay absolutely quiet," he said, voice dark and commanding. "Or you can tell the entire neighborhood what I'm doing to you, but you do not move from where I put you."
Which option he wanted was clear: his voice was so thick with lust at the thought of her screaming (since when did Jayne scream?!) that she whimpered and he was so hard his jeans looked like they might tear any second now.
After an endless moment of silence, Jayne recovered and gave her partner a glare that should have killed his arousal stone-dead as she growled, "Fine. I won't say a word."
When a smug smile instantly sprang to his lips, she growled again and stood up straight, turning to face Chris and then stepping directly into him, completely in control despite her wrists being bound behind her. She gave him a dark look before kissing him almost angrily, pulling a surprised cry from his throat when she bit his bottom lip hard before moving back to the settee, her gaze never leaving his.
"I won't say a word," she repeated, eyes hot with passion and danger. She was glorious and Phil was so bitterly jealous at seeing what she'd never given him that he couldn't breathe . . . but he didn't move. "But I will not forget this, Christopher."
This was a declaration etched in stone and Chris' mouth curved in a slow smile. His pupils were blown so wide with arousal that there was just a thin rim of gold in his eyes, and heated anticipation came to his face as he leaned down.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," he rasped in reply before taking her mouth in a ravenous kiss that made her knees buckle. He chuckled in clear satisfaction as he lifted his head, brushed his lips across both eyelids, and gently turned her around, bending her back over the settee and raking her with a searing, lascivious look that made Phil swallow, because her trousers outlined her ass and legs magnificently and even he couldn't resent Dean for drooling over the view.
But then Chris actually wiped his mouth, he wanted her that badly, and Phil wanted to kill him.
Still, he stayed put.
Chris licked his lips again and then slowly, carefully, peeled those skintight trousers down her thighs, making sure he touched every new centimeter of bare flesh he revealed, and grinning with unbearably smug triumph when Jayne kept shifting, both seeking his touch and trying to escape it, but not even a sigh escaped her lips . . . which she was biting so hard, Phil noticed with narrowed eyes, that he was pretty sure he saw blood.
Who was this woman?!
Not once in the more than two decades he'd known her had Phil ever seen Jayne so . . . so unrestrained. So trusting. So obedient.
So wanton.
And he wanted that. He was literally aching to be the man who made her feel so good, she couldn't think straight — but for all that Jayne was a very quiet and contained person, she had never been 'submissive' and the few times he'd hinted in that direction, her response had been so cold, the windows weren't the only thing that got frostbite.
So seeing her obeying Christopher sodding Dean was shocking.
Infuriating.
And So. Fucking. Hot.
Chris finally sank to his knees and pulled those damned trousers down to her calves, raking her body with another long, lust-filled look before he leaned in and with no preamble at all, buried his mouth between her thighs. She jolted so hard, he actually fell back on his heels — but she never made a sound, though Phil was sure he saw her bite a hole into the cushion beneath her. Then she tried to spread her legs, only to be stopped by the trousers she still wore, and her entire body went rigid before she turned her head and gave her lover a look that demanded he come here right this second and get her off.
Oh, that was sexy. And wrong. So very, very wrong. Why had she refused to give him this part of her?
Why?
Chris sucked in a deep breath through his nose and came back to his knees, wrapping one hand around her hip for support as the other skimmed up her outer leg before those long fingers delved into the cavern between her thighs, where she was so wet and hungry for him that Phil could see it across the room. His cock throbbed in his pants and he gave it a hateful look, because he did not want to be turned on, dammit.
Not if he couldn't have her.
A sudden low, husky chuckle pulled his attention back to the couple and he glowered as Jayne writhed and squirmed, so clearly loving the attention Chris was giving her that she didn't need to say a word; her body was screaming loud and clear just how good it felt. Despite everything, Phil was unable to tear his gaze away now, watching with blurry eyes and aching hands and a bitter heart as Dean worked her with sure, knowing fingers.
The reactions he was eliciting were so uninhibited that Phil knew he was right — they'd been lovers for years — when Chris suddenly drew back and bit his upper lip, gentling his touch and watching avidly as Jayne pressed harder into the settee and tried again to spread her thighs. A sudden look of understanding washed over his face and he grinned, grabbing her thigh with one strong hand and beginning to work the fingers of his other hand with a laser-sharp focus that had Phil swallowing another surge of sharp, acidic jealousy, because Jayne responded to whatever the hell he was doing with a wanton abandon that wouldn't be out of place in a porn flick.
Who was this woman?!
She was rocking back and forth on her heels now, teetering on the edge and chasing the ecstasy that was just out of reach. Like a magnet, Dean followed her, but he refused to let her reach that peak, swaying with her as he sent her spiraling ever higher but somehow keeping her where he wanted her: desperate for release and utterly reliant on him to get it. Instead, he tightened the hand on her thigh as he leaned in and began working her with his tongue as well.
Clearly caught off-guard by this unexpected stimulation, she actually bit the cushion to muffle the scream Phil could see forming from his hiding place across the room, and Dean chuckled without moving his mouth. That was too much, because she took her teeth off the cushion just long enough to suck in a deep breath before dropping her face back down and biting into the thick fabric once more, her hips stuttering in a familiar rhythm as he catapulted her to the stars, a low keen of pleasure escaping despite her desperate attempt to keep her mouth occupied.
That was a thought Phil Did. Not. Need.
Chris, however, didn't seem to give a damn; he was too busy yanking her trousers off her left leg. He was even more desperate than she was and it showed when he lunged to his feet without any attempt at bringing her down, or even a moment of smug admiration. It took him four tries to get his jeans unzipped and he let gravity take care of the rest as he pushed into her, fast and hard, gasping her name as he did. Jayne turned to look at him, eyes half-open and glazed, a moan of pure satisfaction escaping her lips as he sank in to the hilt and clamped his hands around her hips before dropping his head to her ear.
"Yes, Jayne. Tell me how good it feels!" he growled before sealing his mouth to hers in a dark, desire-soaked kiss, the sound of their harsh, ragged breathing the only noise in the otherwise silent flat.
It was only then that Phil realized his fist was in his mouth and he'd bitten down so hard it was bleeding from his effort to stay quiet.
He watched with hot jealousy and raw lust as Chris started to move, fucking Jayne in short, sharp movements that pressed her against the settee with each movement, and her moans and whimpers filled the flat.
"Oh, yes, sweetheart, that's it," Chris crooned in her ear, panting hard, and she shuddered, pushing back against him in a wordless demand for more. When he stopped entirely, she actually snarled at him in furious protest, which made him chuckle even as he tugged hard at the belt still wrapped around her wrists. It took only a moment for him to remove it and Jayne's breath caught in her throat as it hit the floor, the jangle of the buckle loud against the heated silence of the room. A split second later, she spread her legs and arched her back.
"Take me!" she snapped, bracing one hand against the settee as she straightened and burying her other hand in his hair to bring his head to hers. He moaned, long and low, before kissing her with a possessive desire that she easily matched, and Phil hated them again.
He didn't know this woman.
He should.
But he didn't — and he never would. Because this woman belonged to Christopher fucking Dean.
Chris' broken cry of pleasure once more caught his attention and Phil opened his eyes, watching with a lasciviousness that he despised as the rival he'd lost to long before he'd ever met Jayne obeyed her demand and began to move, taking her hard and thoroughly, with long, deep strokes that had her moaning and whimpering and begging for more, harder, now, please, Chris.
He nearly bit through his lower lip as he stared, mesmerized, his mind simply unable to deal with this — because never, even in the throes of being newlyweds, had she been this . . . eager. She wasn't loud or overly enthusiastic for Phil, didn't moan or make much noise at all, no matter how good it felt. And she'd certainly never begged him for anything. He'd never left her unsatisfied, but he was finally seeing just how much he'd been denied in return, because the passion she was so freely giving to Chris was a depth of emotion he didn't even know she had.
He wanted it.
It was his, damn it, and he deserved it.
But he wouldn't get it. Not now, and not in the future. And he could hardly go back in time to claim this intensely passionate, sensual side of his (ex) wife.
The side she hadn't trusted him enough to show him.
And of course, just like Pavlov's fucking dog, her partner gave her what she asked for. After the third stroke, which had her moaning like a porn star and sent another wave of black lust through Phil, he slid a hand under her shirt and closed it around her breast; this elicited an honest-to-God scream and Phil's hands clenched so hard in jealous rage that he actually punched a hole in the water bottle he was still somehow holding, soaking his back in the process.
He was too turned on and enraged to really notice, though he did finally let the thing go, the sound of it hitting the floor lost in someone's moan, and instantly put his hands together on his chest, fingers clenching in impotent fury as he watched Christopher Dean and his (ex) wife fuck like it was an Olympic sport (and if he had the bitter thought that if it were, they'd get another round of perfect scores, could anyone really blame him?).
"Ah!" Jayne suddenly cried, throwing her head back. "Oh, Chris, you feel so good!"
He growled in response and caught her earlobe in his teeth, pulling a whimper from her, and then bent her over even more, lengthening his strokes and shifting his hips on each one, gasping filthy praise that was mixed with her equally filthy pleas, and Phil couldn't do anything but watch and listen in helpless thrall as the life he should have had played out in front of him.
"Ohohoh, yes, right there! Ah! Do that again!" she gasped, eyes falling closed as she moved effortlessly with him, riding the wave, and Chris groaned her name, working his hips harder in response to her ardent demand.
"Do you like that?" he rasped, sweat beading on his forehead as he fucked Jayne like it was the last thing he'd ever do, and she howled in answer when he sank his teeth into her shoulder and pulled her upright, grabbing her breast over the shirt and squeezing roughly as she arched into his hands.
"It could be better," she shot back through gritted teeth and Phil blinked, yanked out of his lust-dazed reverie at that. What the hell . . .?
When Chris laughed and slowed down, his movements becoming languid and easy, Jayne whined her displeasure and he laughed again.
"How much better?" he asked, getting a ferocious glare in response, along with a snippy, "What, you need me to show you?"
That took a minute to sink in. When it did and he had more-or-less recovered his stunned disbelief, Phil almost lost it at the thought of watching Jayne get herself off, and he glared at the pair with a hateful desire that infuriated him. Why, why, WHY, was he being punished by being forced to watch what should have been his?
Chris was just as powerfully affected and he kissed her so hard, so passionately, that Phil could see their tongues fighting and his cock gave a warning twitch. Scowling, he glared down at it but a choked gasp once again pulled his attention back to Jayne and Chris.
They both had a hand buried between her thighs and that gasp had been from Chris, who looked awestruck, licking his lips as he and Jayne worked in tandem to get her back to that glorious peak of ecstasy. When she was moaning nonstop and rocking against him, her movements stuttering and erratic, he caught his bottom lip in his teeth and started to thrust, slowly and carefully, his eyes fixed on their hands. It didn't take four strokes before she spasmed and threw her head back into his shoulder, her breath crescendoing into soft gasps of his name that spiraled into a nearly-silent scream and choked, broken little cries as she exploded over the edge of absolute bliss.
Chris' guttural cry joined hers as he went with her, their bodies never losing rhythm even as they found nirvana together.
All three of them were breathing heavily when Chris finally straightened and gently eased himself free of Jayne's hot, sated body. Their shirts were plastered to their torsos, her black trousers were clinging to her calf, and his jeans were snagged low on his thighs, and they both looked so debauched and so incredibly satisfied that it actually hurt to see.
Languidly, Jayne shifted so her back was resting against the settee and tilted her head in a wordless request for a kiss that Chris eagerly obliged, and for an eternity, they simply shared their emotions with their mouths, soft and sweet and almost . . . almost reverent.
When they finally broke apart, it was only far enough to rest their foreheads together and that tender intimacy made Phil's temper flare again as he looked down, trying to keep his anger in check.
That was something else he'd never gotten from Jayne, and it rankled.
"That was amazing," Chris whispered into the stillness of the flat, breaking his concentration and yet AGAIN drawing his attention back to the couple. "Can we . . . can we do it again?"
Jayne smil—no, that was a smirk, as she drew back to give him a slow once-over, lingering for a long minute on his cock, before meeting his eyes.
"Maybe for our six-month anniversary," she replied, and Phil's head exploded.
Six months?! There was no fucking way!
That wasn't right. It wasn't. It couldn't be right, because if it was, then he—
No. No, he'd misheard, and he looked at Jayne with wide eyes, trying hysterically to figure out what she'd really said, only to see Chris swallow, biting his lip and trying not to look too hopeful. Jayne's smug look deepened at this and then he took a step back, lowering his head in complete submission, which just pissed Phil off even more.
"That's only three weeks away. Could — can I wear the belt?" he asked in a rushed whisper that also took a minute to really register.
Phil regretted hearing it when Jayne actually purred, "I'll think about it; you'll have to earn it and there's definitely room for improvement . . . but you are a quick learner."
Chris nodded almost frantically in agreement, which made her laugh, and then she glanced down, a proud smile curving her lips as she once again took in their disheveled states before tugging his jeans back up.
"Go on," she said tenderly, caressing his jaw. "Go get cleaned up — and no, we're not showering together. Not this time; we'd hurt ourselves."
His disappointment was deep and profound, and so pitiful that she laughed again, kissing him softly before pushing him at the door.
"Tomorrow," she promised, giggling when he perked up, looking so much like a puppy that even Phil thought it was cute, albeit just for a nanosecond.
She waited a solid thirty seconds after Chris had left the room before pulling her trousers off completely and tossing them on the settee with a fond stroke of the material. It was only then that Phil truly registered that she was still undressed and his cock throbbed in angry protest at not being able to have her. But instead of leaving the sitting room herself, she turned to the kitchen with a sigh, her hands coming to rest on her hips, covered now only by the long shirt she wore and making her look ridiculously alluring.
"Well?" she suddenly said, catching him completely by surprise. "Was it what you wanted?"
Hold on. Was she — was she talking to him?
"You might as well come out," she told him, sounding tired now. "You aren't nearly as subtle as you think you are."
He was halfway to his feet before that sank in.
Wait. She'd known he was there and still done that to him? Forced him to watch her fuck a man who wasn't him? A man she knew damn good and well he despised?
Who was this woman?!
He didn't have the chance to scream that very question to her, which — in retrospect — was probably a good thing.
"You finally have what you've been demanding the entire time I've known you; was it everything you wanted?" she asked a second time, her voice flat but not emotionless.
And he — he was so confused.
Also, wary; there was something in her tone that he did not like, something dangerous, and he steeled himself to meet her eyes as he came completely upright.
"Jayne, where's my showe—oh."
This accompanied Chris' reentry to the room, and Phil rolled his eyes. It only needed that.
Thankfully, he was still wearing his jeans, though now he was bare-chested, and Phil couldn't stop the spurt of envy at how well-built the bastard still was. That thought vanished as he forced himself to meet the other man's eyes and he would admit to surprise when he was greeted with an even look instead of anger. His surprise faded to confusion when this lack of emotion was followed with the rather incongruous, "What, is there a convention?" to Jayne as he gave her a slightly disgruntled look that was chased with a glare when he saw her state of undress and he grabbed a blanket, handing it to her with a faint scowl. She accepted it with an apologetic look and wrapped it around her waist.
"No, seriously," Chris said again, now looking annoyed. "Is it Voyeur Week or something and I just missed the e-mail?"
Phil blinked, completely befuddled by this random observation, but Jayne merely hummed in reply before shrugging.
"Not that I know of," she answered. "I guess Karen could have called him, but I doubt it. That would require her to admit that she was wrong."
"Oh, yeah. Good point," Chris said with a decisive nod before they both turned back to Phil, who suddenly felt trapped as he was judged and found wanting.
And that infuriated him, because he was the victim here!
He would never know if Jayne saw that on his face or simply decided to verbally castrate him since he'd so thoughtfully given her the opportunity.
"Why are you here?" his (ex) wife's lover asked, looking for all the world like they'd run into each other at a coffee shop, and Phil twitched.
"Really?" Jayne demanded, utterly exasperated, and Chris mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds before recovering.
"Well, aside from that," he elaborated, and she scoffed.
"There isn't 'aside from that'," she told him. "It's been a year since the divorce and DOI is ending, so he thought I'd realize I screwed up, even after not living with him for three years now, and beg him to take me back, which he'd be gracious enough to do — after he forbade us from seeing each other or even talking. Right, Phil?" she prodded, giving him an expectant pair of raised eyebrows.
This elicited an eyeroll from Chris and Phil wanted to kill him.
But he never had the chance.
Because with her next breath, Jayne destroyed his world so completely, he never would find all of the pieces.
"But since there isn't a chance in hell of that happening, I decided to give you what you've wanted for twenty-three years," she said quietly, but with that same unnerving undercurrent of danger threading each word. Chris' eyes blazed hot with renewed desire when he heard it, but Phil went very still. This wasn't going to end well for him and he desperately did not want to hear what she was about to say. But he didn't get a choice. "I played the whore with Chris," she spat, glaring at him with utter contempt even as Chris smiled with pure satisfaction. "Because we love and trust each other and he'll never use it against me. So you got what you've always wanted and now your life should finally be complete, and that means you can get the hell out of mine."
Before he could even begin to process that, she turned on her heel and just . . . walked away, Chris falling in at her side the way he always had and always would, their fingers twining in a clear statement of 'together' that was as painful as it was unmistakable.
Neither of them so much as glanced back. They just left Phil standing alone in a house that he no longer belonged in, suffocating from the realization that she was right, he'd gotten what he'd suspected — known — for years: proof that she was sleeping with Chris.
Because the universe had a sick, twisted sense of humor, it was accompanied by proof that it wasn't the established, long-term affair he'd thought from the beginning.
Which meant that he really had been wrong. For two decades, he'd allowed bitterness and jealousy to erode the happiness that should have been theirs, poisoning the well of their love until there was nothing left but weary indifference.
And Jayne had made her choice very, very clear.
So Phil swallowed hard, nodded once to himself, and left her key on the coffee table as he quietly left her flat for the last time.
Once he was in his car, he took several deep breaths before fishing out his mobile.
He would never have Jayne again. He knew that now, and was starting to accept it.
But that didn't mean he needed to be alone. After all, there was someone out there who would understand exactly how he felt.
Putting the phone to his ear, he sat through one ring, two, th—
"Hello?"
He took one more deep breath for courage.
"Hey, Karen. Can we talk?"
~~~
fin