Broken Play, page 11
“You need options,” she claims.
She also brought takeout, and we eat while I pack for Dallas. We call it an early night since I was so rudely awakened this morning.
Noah tightens the rope above my head, effectively attaching my wrists to the bedpost, as Drew inserts another finger into me. My back bows off the bed as his tongue joins the action.
“Oh, God. More,” I moan.
“Say please,” Noah demands, his naked form moving back into my line of sight. Dewy sweat beads on his rippled abdomen.
“Please, please,” I whisper.
“I think she’s ready,” Drew announces from between my thighs. Noah sends him a wide grin as he steps closer to my head, placing his long, hard dick mere inches from my mouth, his hand reaching to draw my chin down, parting my lips. Drew rises to his knees and spreads my legs to accommodate his size.
Simultaneously, they enter me.
I wake up, gasping for breath and horny as hell.
Fuck my life.
Having sex dreams about my new coworker is bad enough. Having my husband there to join the fun... well, that’s a whole other can of worms that I never want to open. I immediately grab my phone to text Leighton.
Me: I just had a sex dream about Drew. And Noah.
Love: YES, GIRL, YES!
Me: NO!! How am I supposed to face Noah after that?
Love: How dirty was it? What are we working with here? Details, I want the details. Where on your body, EXACTLY, did they finish off?
Me: You are the literal worst. There was no finish. Just the start of some DP.
Love: Yummy! But why worry? Grab that new Hitachi, finish yourself off, and move on. Do you think that man didn’t go home after dinner the other night and handle himself in the shower with thoughts of taking you from behind? Because he did. I guarantee it.
Me: Goodbye, Leighton.
Love: Happy to help, love ya!
Leighton changed the direction of my fantasies with just a few short text messages, and when I grab one of my new toys she dropped at my doorstep earlier today, the image in my head is Drew fucking me while Noah directs the scene from the corner.
Again, fuck my life.
On my way to the airport, Noah texts me to meet him in the airline lounge. As I approach the door, my heart rate speeds up. It feels dirty and disrespectful to masturbate to your coworker. It’s shameful. I am ashamed. The sex dream isn’t my fault. You have no control over what you dream of. But I added him to my fantasy willingly. Is that a betrayal of trust? I don’t know. I’m so confused over it, and it makes me even angrier at Drew because I shouldn’t even be in the position where I am dreaming of sexual interactions with Noah Anders.
Shit, how am I going to face him?
Spotting Noah at a table far off in a corner, I grab a coffee on my way over, sit, and mumble a hello without making eye contact. I can feel his gaze on me, even though he says nothing.
Being the coward that I am, I pretend to be involved with something important on my phone.
“What’s up with you today, June?”
Nothing, I mouth around another sip of coffee.
“June. One thing you should know about me. I don’t lie. Ever. I expect the same from you.” He says it with authority. Something he doesn’t have over me. So why does the idea of it excite me?
I know that answer and I blush with the knowledge.
Sighing, I turn to him. “Fine. I’m off my game today. I had a hard day yesterday and didn’t sleep as well as I’d like.”
The truth. With huge omissions, of course.
“Drew?”
“Mmm,” I confirm. “He showed me his possessive side.”
“Ah, I assume he saw the photos. But I can’t blame the man. I’d be a jealous husband, too. I’d imagine you’d be used to it by now.”
“Well, that’s the thing. He’s never shown it to me before.”
“You’re kidding me?” he asks, astonished.
“Did we not just establish a no-lies rule?”
“We did. I guess I’m having a hard time reconciling the Drew I know with the one you do.”
“I, too, am having a hard time reconciling the Drew I knew with the one he actually is. He’s always been protective and sticks close to me when we’re around other people. But he’s never acted like he did yesterday.”
We’re both quiet for a while. Maybe he’s letting me ruminate over the turn my life has taken. Maybe he doesn’t want to speak the words, the truth. I married a man I’ve known most of my life, and also not at all.
“Can I ask you something, Noah?”
“By all means.”
“Are you happy?”
“Generally, yes. Are you asking if I’m happy in a specific part of my life?”
“You worked at a goal for the better part of your life, right? To be an NFL quarterback. You made that dream come true only for it to be stolen away from you shortly after obtaining it. In a split second, the most important thing in your life, for so long, disappears. Or drastically changes, at least.”
“You’re asking how I moved forward,” he says, and I nod. “In the spirit of truth, I’ll tell you it was the hardest time in my life, and I spiraled for several months. For as long as I could remember, I’d lived a strict existence. I rarely drank, I had a strict diet, rigorous workouts, and I kept women at a distance to not distract me from my goal. That goal being the Super Bowl.” He finishes his coffee before speaking again. “When that finish line was no longer a part of my race, I gave in to the excess. I did all the things I never allowed myself. With great enthusiasm, I might add. I can’t tell you what caused me to change. There was no sudden epiphany or spiritual awakening. One day, I knew I needed to pull back, find a balance, and set new goals. I can still get my Super Bowl win if I want, only it will be from a position of management or maybe coaching. I’m not sure yet, but it won’t be from being on the field. And that’s okay because I enjoy everything I have. I work hard, but I finally get to play hard, too. Maybe you need to adjust what your race looks like or your finish line.”
“I’m sorry you lost that chance, Noah. Truly, I am. Thank you for being so open about it. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. I told you I want us to be friends,” he says. “Are you nervous about seeing Drew in Dallas?”
“God, yes.” I laugh.
“If you need anything from me, you let me know.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand.
Once again, I’m struck by how great of a man Noah is. He’s honest, supportive, and seems one hundred percent genuine. Then again, my personality radar is on the fritz, so what do I know?
After we check into our hotel, we’re only given a short time to settle before having to meet with the producers and crew. It lasts for hours. All the bases of our schedule get covered and a lot of other details that don’t pertain to us on camera personalities.
It’s late evening before I’m able to head back to my hotel room. In the elevator up to my floor, I realize I never texted Drew that I’d arrived. I pull my phone out and start typing as the door opens to my floor.
“Text me if you want to catch dinner together,” Noah says as I step out.
“Thanks. I’m beat, though. I’ll probably just order in some room service and binge some shitty reality television,” I reply just before the doors shut to take him up to his floor, and I press send on the text to Drew.
Me: At the Live, Room 408.
The sound of a phone notification down the hall brings my head up.
He’s here, standing at the door to my hotel room. One arm above his head as he leans on the jamb.
My heart stumbles as I take him in. His large body that used to give me a sense of security whenever he was around. His chiseled jaw, always dusted with perpetual two-day-old growth. And those eyes, his piercing hazel-green stare.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul. They, whoever they are, say a lot of bullshit. I don’t see the soul of a man who willingly broke my heart. If I had, maybe I would’ve never fallen so uncontrollably in love with him to begin with.
I wouldn’t have pined through my adolescence, secretly watching every move he made. The way his thumb rubs his index finger when he’s thinking hard wouldn’t have been something I noticed when I was only nine years old. It wouldn’t be a sign I looked for when I was concerned about his mental state, because I wouldn’t have cared at all. He would’ve just been my brother’s annoying best friend.
Maybe I would have met a sweet, adoring man. One who’d have worshiped me to at least the point of faithfulness. We’d live a happy life in the suburbs somewhere, just like all the millions of other women out there in the world.
But that’s not what I got. Life delivered me a boy with dirty knees and messy hair, whose mere presence had my heart beating in time with his, and I never looked back.
“I know.” His deep voice carries to me. He holds his phone up, showing he received my text.
“I thought you didn’t get in until tomorrow?”
“Changed my plans,” he says when I stop right in front of him, his bulk blocking my door. “I missed you.”
I missed you, too.
I can’t say it. I don’t tell him I think I’ve been missing him for months. Or years, even. I don’t ask where he’s been, where he went. Why I’ve missed him. Because I know the answers.
He left me for her even when he kept coming home to me.
“Can I come in?”
Still, I say nothing. My throat feels constricted. I’m not sure I can speak without breaking down. Instead, I stare.
“Let me in, June.”
With the heaviest of hearts, I do.
He follows me in, watching me closely as I drop my handbag on the dresser and kick my shoes off into the closet, then head to the mini bar for a bottle of water. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything not to acknowledge his enormous presence, occupying too much space and sucking up all the air in the room.
“Stop,” he clips out in a demanding voice.
He steps to me, so close I can feel his warmth, his breath rustling my hair. Reaching around, he removes the water from my grasp and sets it aside.
“Turn around, June.” I do and his arms encircle me, the gentleness breaking me all over again. “Shh, just let me hold you,” he says when my breath hitches.
Minutes feel like days as I struggle to shut my brain off and live in this moment. A moment where I’m the most important thing in Drew’s life. Not football, not sex, not Lorelai. Drew holds me as he did on our wedding night as if I’m cherished. As if he’s a bubble protecting me from all life’s dangers.
Now I know the biggest danger comes from inside my home.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me, and I step back from his embrace. The dress I’m wearing drapes off one shoulder. My hair is up. The silver scar on my neck is in full view. “You did in the pictures from the other night, too. But I hated that you dressed up for him.”
Anger rushes through me with his accusation.
“I didn’t dress for Noah any more than I ever dressed for you.”
“Bullshit.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “At least I get dressed as opposed to undressing for other people.”
“You should watch that smart mouth of yours with me, June,” he says, eyes flashing to my lips. “Or I’ll find a way to shut it up for you.”
“Do your worst.”
Drew’s eyes bounce between mine. Calculating or deciding, I can’t guess.
“Are you threatening me with a good time?” he asks, his voice cautious but laced with excitement.
“How the fuck would I know? It wasn’t me you were showing a good time to.”
He stills, every muscle instantly rigid.
“Do you think you’re ready to find out?”
“I’ve been ready for ages. You never gave me a chance. You never asked me what my fantasies are. Instead, you just went out and lived yours.”
“You do not know what you’re talking about,” he bites back at me.
“Bullshit,” I say, throwing his word back at him.
His mouth forms a thin line and he’s back to staring at me. The subtle changes don’t go unnoticed by me, though. Drew leans ever so slightly closer to me. His jaw ticks, nostrils flare. I know the signs of his arousal well as his darkening pupils enlarge.
“Do you want to fuck, Drew? You can pretend I’m her.”
He flinches, and my heart is racing so fast, I’m not sure I’d even hear the words over the rushing of blood if he answered me. I don’t know why I just asked him that. I shouldn’t be instigating any kind of sex, let alone whatever kind of angry sex I’m pushing for right now.
I’m jealous, though. Jealous of Lorelai. Of Drew. Of everyone who gets what they dream of. I want my turn and I want answers. And I want them both from Drew right now.
“Do you picture her when you have sex with me?” I ask.
His hand quickly finds my messy bun and tugs, causing my face to upturn to him. His eyes are ablaze in a way I’ve never seen.
“Let’s get one thing straight, June,” he says slowly, precisely. “In my mind, I’ve only ever had sex with you. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. It’s you I see, always you. Since the very first time.”
The crack of my hand on his cheek echoes through the room. My reaction to his words surprises us both. I hope his face burns as much as my stinging palm does.
“It should have been me. Every single time, it should have been me.”
Drew slowly loosens and undoes his tie. So silently, he moves. Barely letting out a breath while his hands work at the length in front of him, looping and pulling at it. I don’t know what he’s doing with it until he suddenly spins me around, pulling both arms behind me. With a quick tug, he binds my wrists with his neckpiece.
I gasp at the sensation it sends through my entire body. Every nerve ending has birthed new life. Turning me back to face him, Drew places one large palm on my chest.
“Do you feel how hard your heart is beating? That’s excitement, and if I hiked that short-as-fuck dress up and shoved my fingers in your cunt, it would be soaking wet.”
This dirty talking man in front of me isn’t someone I know. It’s a side of him he’s never shown me. I hate that he’s right. I hate that his words make me so hot. I hate that he’s never said them to me before.
“Is this how you talk to all your other women?”
“How many do you think I have?”
I fucking hate him. He should give me this moment, where I’m the top dog. Where I get to ask all the questions and he answers obligingly. Where I get to be snide and rude, and he takes it all. I want all of that and I want him to fuck me like he does her as well.
Maybe I hate myself even more than I hate him.
“Again, how would I know? You should tell me.”
“Do you want to know?” He whispers the words over my cheek.
“Not want, need.”
“Four,” he answers after a pause.
“Currently?” I ask angrily as my blood boils and my heart screams in despair.
“No. None currently. There were three before Lorelai.”
“Elaborate, and if you have ever loved me, you’ll not speak her goddamned name again,” I say, using Dr. Fillmore’s prompt.
Drew moves behind me and slowly unzips my dress. He takes as much time with the dress as he does with the words. Creating a mix of anxiety and thrilling excitement at the same time.
“The first time, I went to a private club. Confidential. Discreet. Picked some woman at random. Never even asked her name. Her hair was similar in color to yours. That made it easier. And also, harder.”
My vision blurs, fists clenching with biting pain. I blink rapidly to keep the wetness at bay. Drew pulls my dress down below my breast, hikes the skirt up to my waist, then moves back in front of me, all while speaking in such a nonchalant manner. As if he’s only reciting a scene he saw once in a movie. Not remembering something he lived, something he did. To us.
“Do you still need more? There may be no going back from this.”
“There already is no going back, Drew. I can’t live with all the questions. Tell me the rest,” I say, choking out the words.
“I didn’t have sex with that woman. She went down on me, and I hated myself. I didn’t go back for months. Every time you looked at me, I thought you knew what I had done. Every time you told me you loved me, I wanted to vomit from the betrayal, the guilt.” He kneels in front of me, eyes never leaving my face.
I stare down at the stranger in front of me. I would probably slap him again if he hadn’t tied my hands behind me.
“You broke us for a blowjob?”
“Not just a simple blowjob, but yes.” His hands drag down from my waist to my feet, taking my skimpy panties with them. “Do you want me to show you?”
More than almost anything.
“I don’t think you have it in you to show me. I am your pretty trophy wife, not your dirty, secret whore, remember?”
The swat to my ass cheek startles me and I jump even though I don’t hate the sting of it. It only edges up the sexual frustration I’m trying so hard to ignore.
“Don’t slut-shame, June. It’s beneath you.”
Asshole.
He says it to shift the balance in power. He knows it, I know it. We both know it works.
“You’re right. I should put all the blame on you, the husband who thinks his wife is too fragile to fuck properly. But I’ll still reserve a healthy portion for Dollface.”
He shoves my panties in my mouth when he stands up. I glare in return.
“Another change in plans. That mouth of yours is trying my patience.”
I mumble a fuck you as best as I can. It comes out sounding like a garbled moan when his fingers encounter the juncture of my thighs. His other hand tangles back in my hair, holding my head in the position he wants it. Like the rest of my body, tangled and trussed up, completely at his mercy.
He kisses me roughly, pushing the lace further into my mouth. Stealing what little air I could get around my undergarment. Suddenly, his mouth disappears from mine. Just as quickly, it finds a new place to kiss. There isn’t any other way to describe what he’s doing to me. He’s making out with my pussy like his life depends on it. His tongue drops to explore my entrance, fucking me with it. Making my knees weak and my legs shake. As if he notices, he easily lifts me, only to reposition me in a sitting position on the end of the bed.
