A/N: I DO NOT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS (the craziest smut I've ever written bye)
…
The way she greets me, with that big grin on her face, you'd think I had just been awarded a Nobel Prize. Multiple actually. As if I just single-handedly solved the climate crisis, found a cure for cancer and ended world hunger all at once. You'd think, based on that ridiculously sweet expression, that she hasn't heard me speak in public before. The same sweet expression that means more than any standing ovation ever will.
And you know what, I'll take it, gladly. I know how privileged I am to have a loving and supportive wife, willing to fly from New York to Chicago just so she can be seated front row for my ninety minute lecture on ending rape kit logs on a national level. As far as supportive partners go, I know how lucky I am.
"You were amazing." She says, leaning in to place a kiss on my cheek, her hands hugging my arms.
"Yeah?" I ask, even though I have a pretty good feeling about my own performance this afternoon. But good feeling or not, I will always crave my wife's approval. "It didn't feel rushed?"
"Not at all." Amanda smiles, intertwining our hands as we start to move out of the large, now mostly empty conference room. "Tired?" She asks, giving my hand a squeeze while nodding in the direction of the hotel bar, "or are you up for a drink?"
"Are you kidding?" I respond with a snicker. "Of course we're drinking."
Because, listen. It's been a rough couple of weeks. And that's an under-statement. Not necessarily caused by any specific event or situation, but just that kind of time in our lives where time is exactly the issue. Meaning, we've had none of it. Too busy dealing with whatever life has been throwing at us, making us forget to breathe and exist beyond our roles as cops and mothers.
A dragged out, high profile case, overlapping with Billie's chicken pox, overlapping with a kidnapping that had us working four days straight on little to no sleep, overlapping with Noah ending up in the emergency room with a broken wrist after an accident at his dance studio.
Hell, I'm tired. My body is so worn out I could probably fall asleep standing up. But right now I don't want sleep, not yet at least. Tonight I want to have a drink with my gorgeous wife, in a city where no one knows us, and where I can, for a few heavenly hours, justbe hers.
…
I realize two drinks later that maybe I jinxed it. The part about no one knowing us, that is. Because when I notice Amanda's glance and follow it, I'm suddenly looking at a familiar face.
"Where have I seen him before?" She mumbles, more to herself than to me as she brings the glass of wine to her lips. I watch her as she takes a sip, her eyes narrowed from trying to figure out who this tall stranger might be.
For a brief moment I weigh the option to lie. Just shrug and say something about how I don't recognize the man seated alone in one of the booths. But I quickly find that I don't want to. Mostly because I don't like lying to my wife, and partly because I… Shit, I don't know. (Or maybe I do, but I don't have a clear explanation for it.)
"I know him." I hear myself say, nursing my own drink.
Her attention shifts back to me then. "How?"
"He's, uhm-" I clear my throat, trying to make this sound casual. "He's a defense attorney. He worked one of our cases a few years ago."
Eyebrows furrowed in part wonder and part annoyance, she asks "so we don't like him?"
"No-" Here, I shake my head. "He's… ok."
I could, of course, go into more detail and remind her of the case in question, just for reference. I could tell her how defense attorney Edgar Goodwin managed to charm, disgust and charm me again in the matter of just a few days. I could. But any further elaboration would also require me talking about subject matters that are, to be frank, certain mood killers.
And I really don't feel like killing whatever mood Amanda is in tonight.
Speaking of-
She looks at him first, then back to me, and then a small gasp escapes before she lowers her voice. "Did you sleep with him?"
"What?" I chuckle, catching the nervous tone in my own laugh around the same time that she does. "No."
She grins then, leaning back, looking cocky and smug as she bumps her leg into mine. "Oh, but you wanted to."
There really is no point in denying anything, I realize. I mean, she's a seasoned detective after all, and my wife. She can read my mind and body language like no one else. So, a little defeated, I give her a look, followed by a shrug.
"Yeah, well, I didn't." I say, reaching between us to place my hand on her knee. "And now I'm a happily married woman." To put an end to the conversation, or whatever this is, I clink my glass against hers, confused when I see that she's still sending not so subtle glances his way.
"I know that-" She mumbles, "but…"
"But?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"He's hot."
I'm about to say something. I mean, I don't know what exactly. Maybe a joke, maybe just a scoff, but then, oh fuck you Amanda, then she's moving.
"What-" I whisper, trying to hold her back. But instead she grabs my hand, and before I know what's happening, we're both moving across the floor, stopping only when we're standing in front of him.
I mentally cringe when Amanda clears her throat, making him look up from his phone, and then I cringe again when I see the instant recognition on his face.
"Captain Benson-" He smiles, quick to move from his seat and into a standing position where he holds out his hand for me to shake.
Having no other choice but to accept, I feel his hand close around mine as I silently curse my wife and force a casual smile. "You remember."
"Of course I remember." He chuckles, his stare lingering a little too long for me not to notice.
"This is Amanda Rollins-" I say, mostly as an excuse to move my hand from his and gesture towards the woman standing next to me. Then, both because I still love her reaction every time I say it, and because I'm curious about his, I add "my wife."
Oh, there's a reaction alright. The usual grin from Amanda, sure. That never gets old. But as much as he might try to play it cool, there is definitely some surprise in his expression. Then again, I too can sometimes find myself a little surprised by the fact that this is my wife.
"I've seen you before." He says, now shaking Amanda's hand.
"She's also my boss." She responds, nodding in my direction but still looking at him. "I'm a detective."
See, this would be a good and appropriate moment to say something like "it was nice running into you" or "have a good night". Amanda and I could go back to the bar, finish our wine and fall into bed together in less than fifteen minutes.
But apparently that's not happening.
"Well-" He says, gesturing towards the booth. "Then I owe both of you a drink."
"We'd love that." Amanda smiles, finally meeting my eyes. "Right, babe?"
If looks could kill, it's possible that my wife would be dead on the floor right about now, because I don't think I hide it all that well, the glare I give her when I hear her response. But I also don't have a good excuse to refuse his offer and get us out of this.
"Of course-" I say, adding a lowered and highly sarcastic "babe" through gritted teeth as I take my seat between her and the counselor.
…
Look. The problem isn't him. And the problem certainly isn't Amanda.
The problem is, at risk of sounding like a Taylor Swift song, one hundred percent me.
To be more specific, the problem is what he makes me feel when I'm supposed to be a married and very much monogamous woman. I'm not saying it's against the law to be attracted to other people, or have certain fantasies. But as far as fantasies go, I rarely act on them. Amanda being a very exclusive example, of course. (Also, when you marry your own fantasy, does it really count?)
Anyway. I don't even know why I'm fretting this, or why it feels like I'm sweating.
We're just having a drink, right?
Right?
"So-" He starts, helping the waiter place our drinks on the table when they arrive. "Wives? When did that happen?"
"Oh, uhm-" I smile, turning to look at Amanda before I look back at him. "That's a long story."
"Not really." Amanda shrugs next to me. "She kissed me when I said I was leaving the unit."
"Hey-" I protest, both in response to the fact that she's not only lying but also, kinda, making me sound like a predator. "That's not-" But then I see that stupid grin on her face. So instead of defending myself and telling him what actually happened, I mumble a defeated "whatever" while rolling my eyes at her.
Amused and confused, Edgar's eyes shift between us, landing on Amanda. "So you're… not a detective anymore?"
"No, I came back." Amanda says. "But I took a… break. Teaching at Fordham."
Playful banter and games aside, I know that she doesn't necessarily like this part. I know that she worries about people asking why she made the decision to leave. Not because she's ashamed or has anything to hide, but there's always that fear of being pitied. And I get it.
On Edgar's face however, there's no trace of pity.
"A detective and a professor?" He says, clearly impressed.
Before my wife can respond to that, I say, just for good measure, "soon to be sergeant." And just because I feel like it and because I can, I grab her hand, lifting it to my mouth where I can place a simple kiss against her knuckles.
"Maybe." Amanda argues. "I haven't taken the exam yet."
And so follows a conversation about the sergeant's exam, and about the department hierarchy, and recent changes in the squad room. And it sounds dry as hell, I know, and it probably would've been, if it weren't for Amanda's behavior.
Maybe not obvious to an untrained eye, but when it comes to looking at her, I know every single one of her tells; There's the way she plays with her necklace, and the way she bites down on her lip. There's the way she laughs and plays with her hair, and of course, the way she's touching me under the table at every chance she gets.
My wife isn't just playing. My wife is turned on.
And who the fuck am I kidding?
I am too.
And it's getting harder and harder to pretend that I'm not.
But then again, I do like a good challenge.
…
We're in the middle of discussing the latest political scandal in New York when his phone vibrates against the table.
"I need to take this." He says, holding his phone up before excusing himself and stepping away from our table.
As soon as I'm sure that he's far enough away that he can't hear us, I turn to Amanda, lowering my voice. "What are you doing?"
"Me?" She asks, feigning innocence. "I'm just having a few drinks, enjoying the company."
"Amanda-" I say, attempting to scold but it honestly sounds more like a plea.
"What?" She teases.
Huffing out a breath, I reach for my drink. "You're flirting." I mumble against the glass, casting a glance in Edgar's direction, noticing that while he's still on the phone, he's also looking at us. "And not just with me."
"Is it bothering you?" She asks, and it's the tone in her voice and the look on her face; Teasing and enticing, yes, but the question is genuine, letting me know that she really wants to know. Letting me know that if my answer is yes, the act ends here. But… Goddamnit.
"No." I tell her, the word coming out as barely a whisper when our eyes meet, a shudder running through me when that hand on my thigh travels higher up. Another shudder when she leans in, placing her mouth close to my ear.
"Are you wet right now?" She asks, making me press my legs together.
I swallow, not really trusting my voice when I open my mouth to speak. "Yes."
"So just go with it." Amanda says, squeezing my inner thigh, promises of what's to come, whatever that might be.
Straightening my shoulders and running a hand through my hair, I manage to regain some composure by the time he returns, deciding that maybe my wife is right. Maybe we can just go with it.
It really helps that he's returning with more alcohol.
…
"Enough about us." I say. "What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?"
"God-" He responds, taking a sip of his whiskey. "That was before Covid, wasn't it?"
"Has it really been that long?"
"Yeah-" He chuckles, "time doesn't really make sense anymore. But truth be told, I made some career changes after that."
"After Covid?" Amanda asks.
He shakes his head, taking another sip before our eyes meet. "No, uhm, after my run-in with your unit."
Curious, I tilt my head. "Really?"
"Mhm-" He nods. "I actually moved back here and started a nonprofit for victims of sexual assault."
Our stare lingers then, and even though neither of us say anything, there seems to be an entire conversation going on between us. Something about me being equal parts impressed and intrigued, and something about him being grateful and maybe a little humble.
I don't know what, but it definitely does something to me.
"So you live here now?" Amanda asks, breaking the silence.
"Correct." He says, smiling at my wife before his attention shifts back to me. "And then I saw you were listed as one of the keynotes today, I knew I had to come."
On the outside, I'm calm. Giving him a smile in return. But what he can't see, is the way Amanda's grip on my thigh just tightened, inching her hand higher, to the point where I briefly forget how to breathe.
Clearing my throat, I try to collect myself, all while blushing from being such a sucker for a good compliment.
"Well, thanks for that." I say, trying a laugh before my face takes on a more serious expression as I do something kinda bold and reach across the table to grab his hand. "And good for you. I'd love to hear more about your work here."
He shifts and moves his hand on top of mine, clutching it.
…
By the time we've shared our third drink, and I realize that makes the total five, I'm in actual, physical pain. I mean, having your wife's hand so high on your leg that she's practically fingering you under the table will do that, but it's the combination of it all. It's the drinks, and the touches shared between us. Touches that come off as casual or accidental when they're anything but. It's the way he looks at us, both of us, like he's thinking something he isn't supposed to think. It's the way Amanda's voice drops an octave when she asks if he's married or seeing someone, and he tells us that he's single.
So when he, after some debate, leaves us in the booth to take care of the tab, I know that I have a decision to make.
"Amanda-" I say, and again her name comes out as a plea. But it makes sense this time, because my body is on fire, and my mind is all chaos.
"This is your call." She tells me, close enough that I can feel her warm breath on my skin. I know she means well. I know that she's good either way. But right now, I'd rather have her be the decision maker. Because what if I'm wrong?
Suddenly, when she looks at me and I look at her, a clouded memory takes form in my head; The things I said on her birthday. That secret fantasy I told her about. And more importantly, the effect it had on her. Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I want this.
Then, out loud.
"I want this." I say, my voice all husky and strained. I lean in to kiss her, a much deeper kiss than I would normally allow in public, but I just, fuck, I just need her right now. I need both of us to be sure. And be ok with it.
"Yes-" She breathes against my lips, arching into me. "Yes."
While shutting everything else out, I fumble for a pen and piece of paper in my purse, scribbling down our room number, just in time for his return, making us move from the booth.
"You didn't have to pay for all of it." Amanda says, (and I honestly do not understand how my wife is capable of sounding so nonchalant right now. But then again, I always thought that she could've been an excellent actress if she ever gave it a try). "But thank you so much."
"My pleasure." Edgar says, smiling, his eyes moving between us.
"Well-" I mumble, and then, with my heart racing, knowing that I'm about to do one of the most unexpected things I've ever done. "If you want a nightcap-" I continue, clearing my dry throat, "or something else-", here, I hand him the piece of paper. "You know where to find us."
I pride myself on being good at reading people, but I honestly can not tell what's going through his head in that moment. I can't tell if this was expected or not, if this is something he wants or not. I don't know. But I do know how to hold onto my dignity, so while I grab Amanda's hand with my right, I use my left to run it down his arm as we move past him.
"Good night, counselor." I say, giving him one last smile before walking hand in hand with my wife, moving us towards the elevators.
…
When we end up sharing the elevator with two strangers, the ride is tense and quiet, but like, in a good way. In a way that tells me no matter what happens next, I'm about to get fucked, thoroughly.
And honestly, that's all I want right now. With or without the extra company. When we're standing there, her hand subtly placed low on my ass, I don't really care how it happens. As long as it's happening.
But when I lock us into the room, and close the door behind us, the realization finally hits.
"Oh my god-" I whisper, covering my face with my hands. "I can't believe I just did that."
"Hey-" Amanda says, quick to close the distance between us before she rests her hands on my shoulders. "Liv, you can change your mind anytime. If he shows up, I have no problem telling him it was just a dumb joke."
I look at her then, finding that she's absolutely telling the truth, and I know she would. If I back out now, she won't be mad or disappointed.
But it's not that.
"No-" I say, pulling her in for a kiss. A proper one this time. "Fuck, I want to, it's-"
"What?" Amanda asks.
"It's just so… not me."
At that she laughs. "This isn't me either." And then she's kissing me again, backing us up against the door until I crash into the hard surface. "But, Liv-"
"Hm?" I mumble, and then I moan because she just cupped my breasts over my shirt.
"What if we just forget about everything tonight. What if we just-"
She never finishes the sentence because that's when the knock comes.
I look at her, she looks at me. A beat, and then another.
"Fuck it." I say, turning around to open the door.
…
To be honest, it takes my brain a moment to adjust; His hands on my wife's body.
Because once he stepped inside, it all happened very fast. And now he's behind her, unbuttoning her shirt to make room for his hand to move underneath the fabric. My hands, tingling and not really working, are resting on her hips, and I alternate between kissing her neck and paying close attention to what he's doing.
There's that one part, the jealous and possessive part, that kinda wants to tell him to back off. And then there's this; Her eyes meeting mine, her lips parting in pleasure and pleasure only, and that little sound she makes when she's wet.
We've joked about this. And yeah, ok, maybe it wasn't actually a joke when I told her about my secret fantasy on her birthday, but we haven't actually discussed the logistics, and to be honest I don't know if that's the norm or if I'm just overthinking everything, but-
"Liv-" She says, or rather breathes, grabbing my hand and effectively interrupting my inner turmoil. With a gentle tug she brings me closer, close enough for my lips to find hers, and just like that, the logistics just don't seem all that important.
Now that we're more or less pressed up against each other, I can feel his hand on her, can feel how he's working her, and how her knees buckle when he focuses on her nipple. I can feel how she pushes back against him, and even though the height difference might throw her off a little, I'm pretty sure she can feel how hard he is.
And although I might not be able to say it out loud, I kinda want to find out too.
But my wife has a plan.
My shirt is the first piece of clothing to fall to the floor, and she makes sure to give my tits some proper attention, almost in sync with how he's moving against hers, before she moves her hands further down. Toying with my belt, she gets lost for a moment when he leans down to suck at her skin, just below her ear, but after a quiet hum and a moan, she continues. And then, a clink when the belt falls too.
"Take 'em off-" She breathes against me, tugging at the black slacks, and there's a very brief moment where I suddenly feel vulnerable in my state of undress, compared to the two people standing in front of me. But fuck it. I trust her.
Again, there's clearly a plan here, and I'm happy to tag along for the ride. So I follow my wife's instructions, and step out of the pants.
With a mischievous smile on her face, she turns, facing him instead of me, hands moving to remove his suit jacket before she starts working his shirt.
I grab her by the waist, pressing my lips to her neck once again, unable to stop the way my hips and pelvis grind against her ass. Friction, is all I can think in that moment. Well, friction, and skin. I need more of that too.
"Now that you're here-" Amanda says, her hands resting on his bare chest where his shirt lays open. "Would you mind helping me out with something?"
I watch as he smiles down at her. "What?"
"You see-" She continues, and I hold my breath as she ghosts her hand over that very noticeable bulge in his pants. "My wife has this very specific fantasy, and I would love nothing more than to fulfill that fantasy for her."
Shit.
My grip on her waist tightens. I know what she wants to do. I realize what's about to happen. And while I had some idea of how this would work, I never thought-
Shit, shit, shit.
"Happy to help." He says, voice lowered and suddenly missing his shirt, allowing Amanda to guide him towards the bed where she instructs him to sit. And then she's looking at me.
"Chair." She says. But when I stand still, looking at her first, than at him, and back to her, she moves. Grabbing my hand, she walks us over to the chair in question, conveniently placed so that when I sit, I get a view of, well, pretty much everything, but most importantly her face.
"You wanted me on my knees, right?" Amanda smiles, and jesus fucking christ, that look on her face is pure sin when she leaves me, returning a moment later with a glass of wine, taking a sip before she leans down. "Breathe." She whispers as the glass travels from her hand to mine, and then I feel the taste of wine when she kisses me. "Relax."
Things are getting a little blurry now, and yes, all these drinks are partly to blame, but-
What the hell?
Crossing my legs and forcing some much needed air into my lungs, I lean back, watching as my wife moves away from me and over to him. And as my heart beats wildly in my chest, wine in hand, I watch as she steps in between his legs, and as his large hands travel up her thighs, still covered by her jeans, until they rest on her ass. I watch as she leans down and-
She's kissing him.
I'm in a hotel room, down to my underwear, sipping wine, watching as my wife is opening her mouth to someone else. I see how her tongue moves against his, how her body reacts to it, and the moan that escapes her a moment later hits me right between my legs.
"This needs to come off-" She says, hooking a finger in his pants, kissing him again while he unbuttons and unzips.
I know she told me to breathe, but I forget all about that when she moves, taking a step back to undo her own jeans, inching them down and revealing the yellow lace underneath.
It's just… Jesus.
I can't help it, I hum a sound of approval, shifting in my seat, my free hand tracing the skin on my chest as our eyes meet. And when I'm sure I have her full attention, I move that hand down, cupping my own breast. I can put on a show too.
Dressed now only in underwear and a partly undone shirt, standing in front of a man twice her size, Amanda just looks so ridiculously confident, I'm reminded once again why I love this woman so much. Not that I actually needed the reminder, and not that this is something I ever thought I'd get to witness, but fuck, I love her.
And I need to say it out loud, I realize. Before anything else happens. I need to tell her.
I end up mouthing the words instead, but it does the trick. This is a moment just for us, grounding us before we allow everything to just… disappear. And with her eyes still locked to mine, she kneels.
And then, her focus shifts to him.
There's nothing but his boxers left now and I watch as she hooks her fingers in them, urging him to lift from the bed, the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips as she frees his erection before sliding the underwear down.
They say that reality never lives up to a fantasy, that whatever image you've created in your head, real life will always be just a little different, just a little disturbed by something that the fantasy never takes into consideration.
Well, fuck that.
Because this? Watching as my wife uses her hand on him, eyes all dewy and her face slightly flushed when her gaze moves to his face?
So much better than just a mental image.
Enough to make me uncross my legs, allowing my hand to travel further down and graze over satin, suppressing a moan when two fingers move over my clit. It's not lost on me how wet the thin fabric is, and how shallow my breaths are getting, but I'm determined not to let myself come. Not yet.
Because up until now, I'd say that I've been somewhat successful at keeping my shit together. I mean, all things considered. Maybe 'playing it cool' would be a stretch, because if anyone is doing that tonight, it's definitely her and not me. But still, I have some sense of control left.
Until she takes him in her mouth.
I don't have any control at all.
Fuck.
Jesusfuckingchrist.
Forgetting about the nearly empty glass in my other hand, it drops to the floor, fortunately without breaking, but loud enough for Amanda to look in my direction.
She doesn't stop what she's doing though. Instead, with her lips wrapped around him, one hand at the base of his cock, she moves her free hand down, and down, and down, until her eyes slip shut, a stifled moan filling the room when her fingers disappear underneath lace.
God, I want to touch her. I want to feel how wet she is, how close she is. I want to hear her and feel her, and taste her. I want everything, all of it and all of her. And shit, I want him too. He wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case. I just want.
But for now, I watch.
And if I've ever had to wait for anything in my life, I know this will be worth it.
So I force myself to ease up on the pressure from my own fingers, controlling my breaths, slowing it all down as I keep my focus fully on her.
I realize then, even though I should've seen it coming, that she's planning to take this all the way. Because seriously, there's no way in hell he's supposed to be able to hold back with the way she's working him now.
Unless he's some sort of otherworldly creature of course, immune to the way she takes him as deep as her throat will allow, alternating between sucking and licking, humming against and around him.
No, he's very much human, and I can't help the smirk that spreads on my face when his head falls back, when there's a twitch in his hips-
"Fuck-" He groans. "I need to-"
He doesn't finish the sentence, just looks down at her when she releases him from her mouth, slowly, replacing the touch with her hand as she glances up at him.
"You were saying?" She mumbles, licking her lips, smiling and feigning ignorance.
He breathes, groans again when she slides her tongue over and around him. "Sure that's ok?" He asks, and I mean, it's pretty clear what he's asking.
Then, catching me off guard, she turns to me.
"Liv?" She asks. "Can he come in my mouth?"
My head spins from the question, from the tone in her voice, and I just can't stop the whimper that escapes me, gripping the armrest so hard with my free hand that my knuckles whiten.
Suddenly I have four eyes on me, hers; crystal blue and anticipating, his; pitch dark and with the hint of something dangerous.
"Do it." I say. And the thing is, I'm not looking at her. Jesus christ. I'm looking at him. And I keep looking at him, forcing myself to not let my stare waver. With two fingers teasing my clit, holding back just for the sake of holding back, I watch him as he starts to chase his release, only shifting my attention to her when I see that expression on his face telling me that he's close.
And then it just, holyfuckingshit, happens. A sharp intake of air through her nose, his hand twisted in her hair, labored breaths followed by two loud groans. And the sound of my wife moaning when she swallows.
…
There's a few seconds of just silence after. Well, except for some heavy breathing from all of us, and a whispered "fuck" from me.
"That was-" He starts, clearing his throat, and the short chuckle that follows is strangely endearing.
"Ok?" Amanda teases, still on her knees. "It's been a while."
He chuckles again, and for a short moment, just because I'm so entertained, I nearly forget about how my entire body is literally throbbing.
But I'm quickly reminded when Amanda eventually lifts herself up, wiping the corner of her mouth as she walks towards me, holding out a hand for me to grab.
"Come here-" She says, helping me up, grinning when she notices how unsteady I am. "You ok?"
I nod, feeling dizzy but better than ok, all while registering that Edgar moves across the room to retrieve a bottle of water from the mini fridge, only then taking in the full, undressed form of him
Like Amanda said, it's been a while, since I last had a naked man this close to me. And while I undoubtedly prefer my wife's feminine features, the softness and the smell and all the beautiful aspects of the female body (particularly hers), there is something to it, I think. And he's just so… large. Like he embodies a strength I find myself curious to explore.
But first, I need to remove my wife's shirt and kiss her. I need to tell her how perfect she is, and how wet I am. And I need to let her remove my bra, and kiss the swell of my tits.
So I do that, and my body trembles under her touch, prickling with impatience.
"What now?" I ask close to her ear, meeting his eyes from across the room.
"Get on the bed." She responds, and I do as I'm told.
I'm a little confused at first, when she joins me but turns in my arms, making me scoot forward and then spread my legs around her, shaping my body to adjust to hers as her back rests against my chest. But then I realize what she wants, and what she's expecting from the man looking at us.
"Your turn." She tells him, and even though I can't see her face, I hear the playful smile in her voice, making me chuckle behind her as I lean my head down to kiss her shoulder.
Of course Amanda would make him kneel for her too, I think, kissing her again, watching as he moves to the bed, staring down at us.
"Well now you're making me all nervous." He says, placing his hands on Amanda's knees, parting them gradually as he descends, taking the same position that she held two minutes ago.
We both laugh then, but it's quickly exchanged with a whimper when his hands move up her legs, over her hips, up her stomach and up until he's cupping both of her breasts over her bra. She whimpers again when he kneads them, and again when he tells me to take the bra off.
While I work to remove it, his hands move down again, and I notice how she's suddenly holding her breath, realizing when I drop the bra to the floor that he has noticed the scar on her stomach.
His hand lingers there, brushing his thumb over the prickled skin.
"Gunshot-" She explains, making him look from the scar to her eyes. "This too, actually." She continues, showing off the scar on her shoulder.
"Jesus-" He whispers, but more like he's in awe than anything else. And I get it. My wife has been through the wringer and her body, just like mine, but for different reasons, has the marks to prove it.
He moves again, kissing the inside of her thigh as one of my hands move to her breast, and I can feel Amanda relax against me and the bed. That is, until he hooks his fingers in her underwear.
Her breath hitches then, followed by a quiet moan when he inches them down, just a little at first, pausing when he sees that barely noticeable line just above her pelvis.
This time, she laughs. "C-section."
"You do know that your wife is a total badass, right?" He says, the question directed at me.
Teasing a fingertip over her nipple, getting the wanted response when it strains under my touch, I smile at him. "Believe me," I say, "I know."
But the sweet talk ends there. Because a moment later, her underwear is on the floor, and his mouth is on her.
I hear it in the first sound she makes, that she's already close. Can feel it in the way she flexes her muscles, and see it in the way her legs and stomach tremble. All the while, I'm so desperate for a similar friction that I am in no way able to stop the way my hips grind against her. Not that it's getting me very far, our position won't allow it. And I'm starting to realize that not only is she making a fantasy come true, but she is also getting her revenge from all the edging I put her through on her birthday.
Clever, I think, adding an extra pinch to her nipple and making her gasp.
"Tell me how it feels." I say, my tongue teasing the shell of her ear.
"Amazing-" She moans, and he hums against her. "I'm so fucking close."
"I can feel that." I say, kinda wishing I could taste her too, but grateful for the show I'm being offered; The sound of his tongue lapping at her, the way she rolls her hips against him, and then, the piercing sound she makes when he pushes into her with two fingers.
"Oh-" She starts, hips moving faster, one hand in his hair, the other holding her up in a somewhat sitting position. "Oh, god-"
I whisper a simple "I love you" in her ear then, but I'm not sure if it's my words or his mouth and fingers that does it. Probably the sum of it all. Either way, my wife is coming, and she's coming hard. And I swear, a flick of literally anything right now, I'd join her.
Expecting her to need a moment to cool down, to catch her breath, I'm not really prepared when she, still clearly feeling the tail end of her orgasm, suddenly moves.
"Fuck-" She mumbles, more to herself I think, "I can't wait anymore."
With no warning, while I grip the sheets, I feel Amanda pull down my underwear, finding myself laid bare for both her and the man standing behind her, feeling like I'm fully at their mercy.
And the thing is, I'm not entirely sure if I want them to show me any.
I really, honestly, just want to come at this point.
Preferably with my wife's pretty little mouth and eager tongue between my legs.
"You comfortable?" He asks, sounding genuine and like the question was directed at both of us. I have to give it to him, this tall stranger from my past who just had his cock down my wife's throat, he's quite the gentleman.
"I'm good." Amanda responds through a mumble, kissing my inner thigh, and then the other, making me roll my hips as my body automatically searches for more. "What about you, babe?" She asks, glancing up at me. "Are you-" I'm guessing she was about to finish that question with "ok?", but he just moved behind her and based on the moan that escaped her lips I can only assume that he's pushing against her, coating himself with her arousal.
"Amanda-" I say, torn between the need to watch her like this; on her knees and elbows, her open mouth so close to my core and still too far away, her eyes hooded- Fuck, she's perfect.
"I know-" She says, kissing my thigh again, and I can hear that she's torn too. Torn somewhere between wanting to give me exactly what I want, and yet constantly distracted by whatever he is doing behind her.
I roll my hips again, muscles trembling as I try to hold back, try to be a little bit patient. But shit, I'm failing and I'm failing fast.
Hands moving to the back of her head, I give her a single warning when my nails dig into her scalp, urging her forward, and then-
"Fuck her." I tell him, sounding so far gone it's embarrassing, but yet, so worth it.
Eyes closed and head tilted back, I can't see shit, but I hear it when he fills her, the surprised whine that comes from her mouth and lands on my clit, the sound of his hips meeting her ass, slow and wet at first before it's more a constant, rhythmic slam. Jesus.
I'm not gonna last like this, I realize. And she's not even using her mouth much. I mean, not that I blame her, she is after all rather preoccupied.
Speaking of-
A loud cry makes me raise my head, not so much with worry as with curiosity, but maybe a little bit of both.
"Too much?" He asks, slowing down but not stopping, his hands planted firmly on my wife's ass, kneading the flesh while waiting for a response.
She shakes her head, breathing fast and hotly against me before she lifts her head too.
"No-" She says, looking over her shoulder, clearing her throat, moaning. "Do it again."
I'm transfixed by the scene in front of me now; The way her skin dips under his tight grip, her eyes, right here and still so far away. And the way they roll back when he slams into her again. But when her tongue comes out to taste me, more determined this time, I can no longer keep my eyes on either of them.
"Right there-" I tell her, pushing up against her, holding her in place, and maybe I should be worried about whether she's comfortable or not right now because surely she is, in every literal sense of the phrase, being pushed to her limit.
But my fucking god, what a champion she is, taking every thrust, while her skilled mouth is working me higher and higher.
And suddenly, like lightning, there it is. So fucking close that I nearly panic from the sudden loss of control in my body.
"I'm-" I start, trying to let her know, but it's hopeless, I can't speak.
And then, fucking finally, I'm coming. Loud and good and in no way dignified. But seriously, after all of this? How the hell am I supposed to act composed or collected right now?
So I don't. I give myself over, blood rushing through my ears as I barely register how Edgar has slowed down, and how Amanda is cooling me down with long strokes of her tongue.
"Holy shit-" I whisper, licking my dry lips, blinking up at the ceiling. "I-"
But there isn't a word for this feeling, so I let the sentence end there, floating away somewhere with my sanity.
"Yeah." Amanda says, and I feel her move up towards me, stopping when she's by my side and we're face to face.
I struggle to get my eyes to focus, but I still kiss her, deep, soft and lingering, humming when I taste myself and her hand moves down my stomach. Realizing then that we're not finished. Not yet.
"I want him to fuck you." She says, making me gasp when her fingers slide through my folds, teasing my entrance. "I want him to feel what I feel. Can he?"
"Yes." I hiss, nodding, glancing up at him, finding his eyes trained on me. When my eyes move further down and see that he's stroking himself, I clench around nothing while swallowing, hard. He's just so fucking big, and truth be told, I think I'm too sensitive. I don't know if I can do it.
But I want to at least try, for her.
So I will myself to move, Amanda moving with me so she can stay by my side. And I will myself to relax, to breathe, to relax my pelvis, and open myself to him.
"You ok?" He asks, making me moan loudly when he rubs his erection over my clit. And despite the lack of confidence in my own stamina right now, I nod, my body coming alive again so fast I'm struggling to keep up.
And then, he's inside of me. And everything is hard and big and just absolutely all consuming. My mind goes blank for a moment, I can't think, and there are tears pricking my eyes. From good things only, but overwhelming still.
"You take it so well, babe." She murmurs the praise close to my ear and if I wasn't close already, I'm definitely getting there now because… fuck. No, seriously, just fuck.
"Kiss me-" I tell her, whimpering into it when our lips meet and she moves her hand, somehow matching the rhythm of his thrusts perfectly when her fingers locate my clit.
And the sound it makes when she touches me there, mixed in with the sound of him pushing into me, the sound, it's… it's obscene. It makes blood rush to my face and my chest, to the point where I want to lift my hands and hide the fact that I'm blushing uncontrollably. But my hands are occupied, clawing at the sheets.
"You hear that, Liv?" Amanda continues, and if I wasn't so far gone, I would've made a joke about witchcraft or something silly like that because how? How the fuck does she know exactly what I'm thinking?
"You hear how wet you are for us?"
Her filthy words make me squirm, moan, throw my head back and gasp, "yes",
"Think you can wait a little longer?" She asks, moving her hand away from my drenched core, making me gasp again when I feel some of that wetness being spread around a hard and sensitive nipple.
"Can you do that?" She says, actually expecting an answer.
So I nod again, pursing my lips, forcing my body to calm down, reaching down to grab Edgar's hand, the one gripping my thigh for balance, instructing him just by movement alone as I set the rhythm.
"Like this-" I say, meeting his thrusts, clenching around him, whimpering when he takes the instructions in stride; Pulling out halfway, only to slide inside moments later, making sure that I feel every inch.
"God, you feel amazing-" He says, out of breath.
I want to respond, tell him "you too", but-
"Doesn't she?" Amanda murmurs, a wicked smile on her face as she looks at him first before shifting her attention back to me. Christ.
Never, never, in my wildest dreams would I ever have imagined that something like this could do it for me. I mean, the fantasy was one thing, but this is something else entirely. And I feel like I should feel some sense of shame, but I just don't. There's no room for it.
Only good.
The buildup, when it happens, is so slow, so subtle, that at first, I don't even notice the change in how they're moving against me. Maybe because I'm constantly distracted by Amanda's tongue in my mouth, the attention she gives to my breasts, Edgar's groans every time he fills me.
But then, like something snapping and breaking, I feel it. The shift from controlled, to the complete opposite. The chase in his muscles, and the desperation in mine. The hoarse encouragement spoken by my wife when she once again finds my clit, now swollen and aching.
"Be a good girl and come for us." She says. "Show him how perfect you are when you come."
"Jesusfuckyes-"
It comes out as an intelligible cry, everything snapping and breaking all at once as she guides me through it, her mouth moving from my neck to my chin, to my mouth. I clench repeatedly, registering how he's spilling inside of me, a sensation almost forgotten but welcomed still as my body accepts everything he is willing to give.
I make the attempt to say something, but it fails, and I lay motionless instead, except for my heaving chest and the occasional twitch in my lower stomach.
"I love you." Amanda whispers next to me, and with my eyes closed I smile tiredly. Humming in response to her words, letting her know, as if there was ever any doubt, that the feeling is very much mutual.
…
Ten minutes later, I'm still in bed, but at least partially covered and in a less exposed position, watching as our guest is getting dressed, while my wife is lounging next to me, nursing a bottle of water.
A fucking fever dream, it feels like. I mean, I guess that makes sense because only now do I realize how tipsy I actually am, and being all… sexed out like this, I guess it would be too much to expect to feel fully coherent.
"So-" He says, buttoning his shirt, and it's a little funny how this very large, very confident man, can look so shy all of a sudden.
"So-" I say, resting back against the headboard. "This was… something."
"It definitely was." He chuckles, picking up his discarded suit jacket from the floor.
"She's doing another lecture in New York in two months." Amanda adds, mostly as a joke, but I still give her arm a playful punch, making her laugh as she continues, "you should come."
Now fully dressed, he grins at us, and I'm once again reminded why I've always been so damn attracted to him.
"Maybe I will." He says.
And with that, he leaves.
There's a few seconds of complete silence after the door closes behind him. A few, drawn out seconds, where neither of us know what to say, like the realization of what just happened is slowly creeping in, making us both hold our breath.
But then, finally, Amanda breaks. Downright cackling next to me, hunched over until her head is more or less in my lap. And I, thinking that this woman is probably going to be the death of me, can't help but join her.
My worn out, exhausted, sexed out body, laughing in a way I'm not sure I've ever laughed before. Laughing so hard that everything hurts.
In the very best way possible.