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One of the girls in the tangle of bodies who wasn’t currently with her tongue in another girl leaned over and tried to connect by kissing Angel but before she got to her, I reached up and pulled Angel backwards flush against me and buried my face into her hair as she continued to ride me. We were already crossing lines I didn’t want to cross. We weren’t crossing that one, too. My hand went around her throat possessively as I kept her against me.
What should’ve been a very private thing between us was happening in front of six Kruna slaves as well as three Kruna partners.
I glanced toward
the floor. Two of the three girls being eaten out were orgasming together. The black girl eating out a brunette was fingering herself and she started writhing while she was coming. The girl watching while Delgado fucked her with his fingers pulled on Delgado’s dick and he started coming.
Angel started to breathe heavier and ride harder. My wife was looking after me. At that thought, I closed my eyes, burying my face into the back of her neck, and focused on her, on all she was to me. I let it go. I came inside her.
She slumped back against me. I held her tight to me.
It washed over me then, that she was wired and there would be ears on that entire event. That, the fact that I’d been aroused by what was happening in that room, and by how my woman had taken care of me, it all filled me with deep remorse. She hadn’t come, only me. She’d been a Stepford wife and it was my fault.
The festivities on the floor continued and I saw that Gan Chen was now fucking one of the girls up the ass while that same girl went down on Delgado, who was miraculously hard already. I’d seen him pop pills at dinner. Probably dick pills.
“Excuse us, gentleman,” I said, and threw my wife over my shoulder like a piece of meat. She squealed. I bent into a squat to grab Angel’s shoes and panties and we left the Townsend room together and I headed, with purpose, back to our suite. Inside, I slammed the door and, Angel still over my shoulder, I grabbed the phone and dialed room service.
“Mr. Ferrano? What can I get you, sir?” the answerer, a male with an Asian accent asked.
“A bottle of Brennivin, a pack of Marlboro reds and a lighter. Put a rush on that.”
I put the phone down and then set her down gently on the bed.
Her eyes were on me.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, staring at her. I had to get my shit together.
She was breathing heavily, staring back at me, her chest rising and falling. I couldn’t read her eyes. I didn’t let myself look at them.
I shook my head and put my index finger to my mouth, warning her not to say anything, and started to pace. I wanted to hit something. I couldn’t. I went to the bathroom and took a piss and then stared into the mirror at my reflection, disgusted with myself.
I heard a knock on the door. I bolted for it. Angel was still on the bed in the position I left her in. I didn’t even look at her face to get a read on what she could be feeling. I couldn’t process my own emotions, never mind begin to think about hers. She was being who she usually was; the girl who wanted to please me.
The idea that she’d think of what’d happened in there as me being unfaithful to her, to our relationship… flashed in my mind. Jesus. What kind of damage had I just inflicted on her?
Angel
Dare stormed toward the door when someone knocked on it and ripped it open so hard I was surprised it didn’t come off the hinges.
I looked down to my hands in my lap. After he shut the door, he was pouring a drink and going out to the little balcony off our room and lighting that cigarette. It was lit before he was out the door.
We couldn’t even talk about this here, in case our room was wired by Kruna. We already knew that a good portion of the clothes in the room were wired by the task force.
I went to the bathroom and shed my clothes and got into the shower.
Half way through rinsing out my conditioner, I felt him come in.
He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my neck. I held him tight.
His grip went tighter.
He looked into my eyes. I looked at his mouth as he mouthed “I’m sorry.” He looked wrecked with guilt.
I shook my head and put my finger to his lips to shush him. I didn’t want him to be sorry.
His hands moved down to my hips and he winced. I looked down. Both my hips had purpling fingerprints from the Townsend room, when he’d gripped me really hard.
“Fuck,” he dropped to his knees and kissed each hip tenderly and then looked up at me, his eyes sorrow-filled.
