Page 123 of Taking Turns

I shrug. “I’m not sure I should care. He’s been living at her fucking house. I’m not done with her yet. And she’s obviously not done with us. So…”

“Yeah, me either. I’m all for the quad this week, but I’m gonna spend my last night alone with her… alone with her. Ya know?”

We let it go. I take off the Santa suit and hand it over to the bartender, then straighten my tie and put my suit coat on.

Smith doesn’t come back until eleven forty-five and when he takes a seat across from me at the table, he asks, “So you’re going up tonight?”

“It’s my night,” I say. “We agreed.”

“And you don’t want me there?”

“I’m not gonna fuck her, I told you that.”

He stares at me for a moment. “Then I guess I’ll go home.”

“It’s not even your home, Smith. It’s her home.”

“Apparently this is her home now,” he says.

I watch him walk out, pissed off and probably hurt. But I don’t care. The rules are the rules. And whether he likes it or not, we’re still playing the game.

It only works if we don’t fall in love.

He knew that going in.

It only ends when she quits.

And right now, she’s still playing to win.

The rules are the rules.

At midnight, I get up, walk down the steps to the landing, and get in the elevator. When I get to her apartment door, I open it up. It’s not even locked.

Chella is standing in front of the window wearing… Jesus Christ. Straps. That’s the only way to describe what she’s wearing. Straps. Across her thighs, across her belly, across her breasts. Except these straps cover absolutely nothing.

She turns and leans against the window. I imagine how cold the glass feels against her bare skin. “I have a confession to make,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows at her.

“I lied. I’ve been a very bad girl this year.”

I turn to close the door so I can smile, but when I turn back, the smile is gone. “What have I told you about lying to me, Marcella?”

I’ve told her nothing, but I’m certain she can extrapolate the answer I’m looking for in this little fantasy.

“You said I’d be punished next time.” She bites her lip. “Will you punish me?”

It almost sounds like begging. And yeah, I’d fucking love to punish the hell out of her right now. Downstairs in the room I have set up for it.

But that’s not what I’m looking for, even if she is.

I walk over to the couch and sit down. “Come here, Marcella.” I like to use her full name when I’m being stern. And I will happily be stern with her.

She feigns nervousness and then slowly walks over to me. She’s wearing the most erotic fuck-me heels I’ve ever seen. Strappy ones, like that thing she’s calling an outfit.

“Sit on my lap, sweetheart.” I pat my thigh and she obediently takes her place. “Confess your sins to me, Chella. And then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

She starts playing with her breasts. “I’m a slut,” she says. “I’m addicted to sex. I love it so much, Bric. I can’t stop myself.” Two fingers slide down between her legs. The “outfit” has nothing in the way of panties. It’s just more straps, digging in to the flesh on each side of her puffy pussy. “I think about you all the time. I want your cock deep inside me. I want it in my mouth, down my throat—”