Beautiful Disaster

"I know. You’ve told me that often enough."

"Then why do I have to tell you again?"

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

"Do you think I’m a hypocrite for having problems being rough with her when I don’t have the same issues with you?"

No idea why, but his question cracks me up.

"Uhm, why should I? At least you’re honest about that, so no harm done, no deluding anyone, right?"

"Yeah, but doesn’t that make you feel like I, well, don’t know, discriminate too much between the two of you?"

"And why should that be a bad thing?" I want to know, then grab his head and pull him close for a quick yet passionate kiss. "You discriminate between us on other levels, too, and I so don’t mind."

"True," he huffs, but while I can tell that it was the right answer from me, I think he needs a little more convincing still.

"Look at it like this – Bella can get her kink on with me, too, and we both enjoy that a lot. But whenever we switch, it’s mostly her indulging my needs. I know that she likes it once in a while, but she doesn’t need it, and I wouldn’t ask it of her more often. Now with you in the picture, she doesn’t have to do it unless she wants to, and she does enjoy playing with you on both sides of the equation. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had her begging like that. You did a good job once you got your groove on, and you both had fun. That’s what counts."

Jazz is a little pensive after that.

"You know, it’s kind of strange. I don’t want to hurt her, but I like to make her react and writhe like that, which I only manage to do when I hurt her.

Still feels hypocritical to me."

I sigh, shaking my head.

"Then you’re a lost cause, and the endless guilt will eat you up! Will my bending you over the back of the couch and f**king you long and hard help ease the emotional pain weighing down your soul?"

"And there I thought we were having a real conversation!" he proclaims dramatically, then leans back and regards me levelly. "Although I wouldn’t mind bending you over the back of the couch."

"No wrecking the couch or I won’t cook for a week!" Bella interjects from across the room, not even looking up from her laptop.

"That’s a serious threat! Not fair!" Jazz complains, then sobers up again, turning back to me. "But I really liked the way she started to respond to me when I picked up the pace a little. That look in her eyes, the way she was begging for it even when she couldn’t do so with her mouth."

"Now we’re talking," I laugh, amused when he sneers in return.

"I told you before, I’m not into it for the pain, I like the whole power exchange thing way more. Even if it scares the crap out of me, taking all that responsibility and all."

"Which just proves that you’re the right guy for the job. Don’t worry, it gets easier with time, and a hell of a lot more rewarding."

"I think I’ll just take your word on that," he remarks dryly, then leans closer so that his breath tickles the side of my neck. "Still, as it is right now, I prefer not to be the one who calls all the shots. But maybe if the next time it’s you kneeling on the floor, looking up at me with pleading eyes while I f**k your throat, I think I could get used to it faster."

"Tease."

He laughs until I silence him with my tongue, plunging it into his mouth.

Still, I have to admit, I really like the idea myself. It certainly beats playing watchdog all the time.

Chapter 35

The sound of moaning in my ears.

Sweat covering my whole body.

The telltale slap of flesh against flesh loud throughout the room.

A wet cunt gripping my c**k and a hard dick shoving into my ass.

My definition of heaven. Nothing beats coming, wedged between the two people I love the most in this world.

Jazz laughs softly in my ear as he grips my shoulder, slumping against me while I do my best not to collapse on Bella. Her eyes flutter open slowly when she feels me pull out, and her lips draw back from where her teeth dig into the gag in what I presume is a grin. Leaning down I place a peck on her nose, then laugh when Jazz slaps my ass playfully.

"I think I’ll leave you two love birds alone now, I really need a shower!" he exclaims, and before I can say anything in reply, he’s gone.

"Smartass," I grumble, then can’t hold back a chuckle as I turn to Bella. "He only does that so I’m stuck with cleaning up! Don’t you think?"

She raises one sweaty eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, letting her silence speak for itself. Considering she couldn’t have said much in the first place with the gag still firmly lodged between her teeth, too large to make even basic vocalization possible, that’s probably a good move.

I shake my head and call him a lazy dog under my breath, while I set to the task of divesting Bella of the rope that has her tied into a neat, helpless human parcel. When I finally remove the gag from her mouth, she works her jaw slowly and opens and closes her mouth a few times before she makes a face, not quite able to shake off the discomfort yet.

"It’s not like you’d accept any help," she points out, stretching her muscles with a few moves that instantly make me want to bend her over the bench a third time. "Last week you spent half an hour complaining about how the spreader bars belonged in the other cabinet, how he had folded the rope the wrong way, forgotten to bring one of the rope coils back for washing, and put one of the canes in with the crops, and that’s not even a comprehensive list. There’s a reason we wisely leave you to do your own cleanup, then suffer in silence when you mope about having to do it all by yourself."

I snort, but can’t deny she has a point. Still I round on her, then grab her head and kiss her roughly, feeling her body mold itself against my own.

Moving back, I keep holding her like that, staring deep into her eyes.

"Just when do you ever suffer anything in silence?"

As intended, that makes her crack up, and she keeps grinning at me even when I let go of her again.

"Like you don’t get off on my grunts and moans and screams!"

"Of course I do. That’s the whole point of making you grunt and moan and scream."

"And here I thought you were just indulging my needs," she huffs good-naturedly, then watches as I continue to fold the ropes – the right way, of course.

"You know, I’ve been thinking," she starts, then waits until I look at her before she goes on. "Jazz will be away for a day next week. Maybe we could plan something fun to do while he’s gone?"

"Define fun?" I ask, more to humor her than anything, as I know I probably won’t get to see her at all between Wednesday and Saturday because of my forty-hour shift.

"Well, you know, the kind that leaves me banged up and unable to walk?"

I flash her a grin, because how could I not? But at the same time I feel a wave of regret already seeping through my gut.

"I’d love to, but -"

"Before you go raining on my parade, I should probably tell you that I’ve been on a sneaky mission for the past week, tracking down your colleagues and sweet-talking them into trading shifts with you. I didn’t even have to lie much when I told them about our upcoming anniversary, and how I might have planned something, and how it’s only possible to do it between Thursday and Sunday next week."

I don’t know why I’m even surprised to hear that. Ever since she stopped being the shy, polite little trophy wife that Mike wanted her to be, she has turned into a persuasive force of nature that no one is able to withstand, or say ‘no’ to. I still offer her a stern look, but she only grins back.