Playing the Game (39 page)
Authors: M.Q. Barber
Her laugh came out as a snort. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your apologies are beautiful things.”
Jay kissed her ear, but it was Henry who replied. “As are your myriad charms, my dear girl. You’re quite correct. It’s been entirely too long.”
Did he just say he missed this, too?
“We’ll take a moment to clean up and have a snack, and then we’ll see if we can’t manage to make the night even more enjoyable for our wayward girl.”
“More enjoyable than that?” She wasn’t remotely unsatisfied with Henry’s performance or Jay’s adorable appreciation. Did he think she was?
“Mmm.” Henry’s fingers interlaced with hers. “You surprised me tonight, Alice.” His fingers clenched. “Squeezing me so tightly. Such a beautiful, rippling pull, coming so quickly for me. Jay and I would happily make you climax a dozen times to feel that pull, my dear girl.”
She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her throat at the thought. She knew why she’d come so easily for Henry tonight. She’d been waiting for it.
Not that she hadn’t masturbated with thoughts of them in the last four weeks. She had, and enjoyed herself. But she hadn’t reached for her vibe. Hadn’t even slipped her fingers inside and thrust. She hadn’t wanted her fingers or her vibrator. She’d wanted her boys inside her, their heat and motion, the feel of them so different from any substitute.
“Hold that thought, dearest, the one that makes you moan so prettily. Leisure time first.”
She and Jay submitted to Henry’s tender attention as he cleaned them both and unfastened the leather sleeves from her forearms.
They fetched the snack tray from the kitchen as he directed. She drooled over the chocolate cheesecake slices, thinking them store-bought until Jay confessed he’d been begging for a piece since the cake had gone in the refrigerator.
“Had to wait, though.” Jay pouted, his lower lip drooping in exaggeration as he picked up the drink tray and she took the cheesecake and fruit. “Henry said he made it for all of us, so it wasn’t fair to have any until you were here, too.”
He sighed. “I offered to drag you out of your apartment last night so you could watch me eat cheesecake, but he said I couldn’t bother you on a work night because you needed your sleep.”
She laughed. “How selfless of you.” Warmth flooded her chest. They’d been thinking of her the night before, anticipating tonight just as she had.
“I would’ve let you eat some, too. But c’mon. It’s cheesecake. And it’s
chocolate
.” He danced into the bedroom ahead of her. “It’s every submissive for themselves.”
“And here I thought your mantra was share and share alike.”
He grinned at her, walking backward. “Only in Henry’s bed. And only with you.”
She almost stumbled. He had to be teasing. She returned his goofy grin. “Good thing we’re eating the cheesecake in Henry’s bed, then.”
“Only if the two of you manage to reach the bed, my dears.” Henry sat propped against the headboard, the pillows behind him. “And I’m afraid you’ll be sharing the cheesecake with me as well.”
They set the trays on the nightstands and feasted, playfully feeding each other while Jay told her about his Christmas holiday. A jumble of names she’d never remember, but stories that made her laugh. Henry mentioned visiting his mother and his brother’s family.
“And you, Alice? How have you passed the time, sweet girl?”
She finished a bite of chocolate cheesecake with caramel sauce before she answered. “Work. Stuff. The usual.”
“You didn’t go home for Christmas?” Jay’s childish incredulity proved he couldn’t understand the concept.
“Nope.” It would’ve been too far, and too expensive, and too awkward, but she wasn’t about to get into that discussion. “We talked on the phone. It was fine.”
“But you went to some awesome New Year’s parties, right?”
She wished she had a fantastic story to tell Jay. “I went to bed early, actually. How did your family celebrate?”
“You spent the holidays entirely alone, Alice?”
Shit. She wouldn’t be able to distract Jay with questions about his family if Henry got involved.
“It wasn’t a big deal. I’m used to it.”
“You told me you had plans.”
“I did. I talked to my parents and my sister.”
The silence hung for a long moment, and it seemed even Jay knew better than to fill it.
“In the future, two phone calls will not count as ‘plans’ for a ten-day span of time. Had you better informed me of the situation, I would have made alternate arrangements.”
Alternate arrangements? What did that mean? Henry wasn’t in charge of her travel plans.
“Are you seriously mad at me? Because I didn’t give you an itinerary for my holiday in advance?”
Henry stroked her cheek. “No, Alice. I am not angry with you. I am, however, disappointed in myself for not having more thoroughly interrogated you on the subject. You have an independent streak that occasionally makes it quite difficult for people to help you, my dear.”
He slipped his arm behind her and coaxed her forward, until she lay snug against his chest. “I would not have had you spend so much time alone over the holidays. You ought to have been with those who care for you.”
Fuck. She felt the tears waiting in her eyes.
Do not fucking cry.
Henry’s voice, soft but brooking no argument. “The dishes, Jay. In the sink, please.”
The bed shifted, and dishes rattled on the trays. Silence, then, as Jay presumably left the room. She refused to pull her face from Henry’s chest to look.
“Oh, Alice.” One hand caressed her back with slow, circular motions. “My dear girl. I understand you are accustomed to handling things on your own. So perhaps it doesn’t occur to you that you might simply
ask
for the things you need and have them provided. For tonight, at least, that decision is not yours.”
His legs tangled with hers under the sheets, rubbing against her skin. “We’ll have to see what we can do to make up for the lack of touch in your life these past few weeks, hmm?”
She nodded against his chest, forcing back the tears with an ungraceful sniffle. He held her closer.
“All will be well, dearest.”
Jay crawled back into bed a few minutes later, and Henry thanked him and gave quiet instructions. Two warm bodies cradled her between them. Bodies whose hands stroked and mouths kissed until she found herself on her back with Henry moving slowly inside her, a belated but very welcome Christmas gift.
About M. Q. Barber
Alice might be submissive for Henry, but her dominant voice forced M. Q. Barber to tell her story.
While writing “Neighborly Affection: Playing the Game,” the author discovered two things: her husband boasts an unending store of patience, and her mother is impossible to faze. Ladies, keep this in mind–when your daughter says, “Mom, I wrote a book of erotica and it’s getting published,” the proper response is, “When can I read it?” (Thanks, Mom.)
Keep up with MQB on Twitter @MQBarber. If she’s quiet, give her a nudge. She’s probably chained to her laptop, trying in vain to get Alice, Henry, and Jay to slow their chatter long enough for her to capture their words.
Playing the Game
9781616504908
Copyright © 2013 M. Q. Barber
Edited by Penny Barber
Book Design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: September 2013
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Lyrical Press
Find Your Hero
Follow us on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/#!/lyricalpress
Friend us on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/LyricalPressInc
Join us on Lyrical’s blog:
http://lyricalpress.com/lyrical-press-blog/
Your new favorite author is just a click away!
Preview
Saint and Scholar by Holley Trent
Copyright 2013, Holley Trent
All rights Reserved, Lyrical Press, Inc.
Chapter 1
“Carla!
Carla!
Wait.”
The bewildered young woman hesitated in the middle of the brick path. She gave her apologies to the torrent of undergrads forced to step around her at the last minute and stood up on her tiptoes trying to see over moving heads and shoulders. Extra bodies seemed to come out of the woodwork on campus during final-exam time. Any other Thursday Carla would have been able to make her appointment without a single jostle. Many students spent Thursday mornings recovering from the Wednesday night special at the pub. She sought out a familiar face, but couldn’t make out anyone she knew. Perhaps he’d been calling some
other
Carla.
“Carla Gill! Wait there, please,” the man called out once more in his low tenor voice.
No, he was yelling for her for
sure
. Carla was a rare enough name for a twenty-five-year-old, and the chance of there being another woman on campus at that moment with the same surname was infinitesimal. It wasn’t one of her friends or coworkers. The accent, a lilting, gentle brogue, was far out of sync with the Southern drawl her friends and family were prone to falling into.
The stream of bodies on the walkway broke just long enough for a man of athletic build around six feet tall to cut through and loop his right arm around her left one. He smiled brightly and nudged her forward to move and clear the path for the harried students. “How are you?” he asked, picking up the pace and navigating her smoothly through gaps of slower-moving bodies.
She couldn’t answer. She was paralyzed by some odd combination of arousal and shame. Seeing him caused her pulse to speed, her breath to catch. She knew this man, but even with him being a pale Adonis and so familiar, she couldn’t remember his name. Worse, his scent stupefied her, triggering memories of another man she hadn’t seen in ages. She hadn’t smelled that brand of soap since her father died.
He turned his head to look down, raising one black brow.
“I’m well.” She turned her face forward once more. Of all the flaws she pitied herself for, her tendency to blush at the drop of a hat was by far the most embarrassing. She started reciting the alphabet in her head, pausing at each letter to try to prompt her memory. She’d just
seen
the man six months ago at the bar and they’d chatted for a full thirty seconds before she was pulled away by her friend Meg. She’d been stupefied then, too, staring at his face as if it was some kind of hypnowheel. She’d done the same two years before that when they’d run into each other at the student store. They’d been next to each other in line. He was buying printer paper, and she was buying art supplies. He’d turned around and asked the same question: “How are you, Carla?”