Used

Esme trotted down the stairs, skinny legs revealed by a cotton skirt, a long-sleeved t-shirt that clung to her, made clear she hadn't bothered to put a bra on after—

After. Ben drew a rough breath in as he watched her. She was visibly tipsy, holding onto the railing for support, but she also had that look about her, and he knew that she'd recently had sex. Her body changed after an orgasm, her movements developed even more of a flow, reminding him of a dancer. Her shoulders relaxed and, typically, a small smile played at her lips for at least the first hour after sex. There was no smile tonight.

The living room was dark, and Ben was hidden in the shadows. Audrey had gone to bed, strangely silent, like she got when she was thinking about something. It worried him. Today of all days, it worried him. Because what if she felt something, caught him looking at Esme in a certain way? Saw his eyes linger on those long legs, picturing the times when they'd been wrapped around him.

Ben watched as Esme made her way into the kitchen, flipped on the light switch, and after a moment he followed her through the swinging door. She spun, hearing the creak of the door on hinges that could use some oil, and their eyes met. He found himself squinting at the sudden change in brightness. A single switch turned on every light in the kitchen, and the gleam of the steel appliances and marble countertops did nothing to dampen the effect. Her mouth opened as she gave a little gasp, her hand came to her heart as if she'd been startled badly.

Esme backed away from him, and he moved forward. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly. She continued backing up, curving along with the kitchen counter. His steps followed. He legs were bare and, as usual, impossibly tan for the winter months. Her skirt was on the short side, flowing cotton ending at least six inches above her knees. Nothing obscene, but he had a great view of long, lean legs.

"Getting some water, what are you doing?"

He'd forgotten he'd asked a question, but he was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He'd been sitting next to quite the collection of empty bottles by the time Esme came downstairs.

"I meant ," he stepped forward, not allowing her to put the kitchen island between them. "what are you doing fucking Barry in a hot tub? And what are you doing fucking Barry in such close proximity to me that I can hear you moan?"

He stepped even closer, swaying a little, and Esme could tell he'd kept drinking long after the movie was over.

"What are you doing fucking Barry at all?"

She opened her mouth to speak but, predictably, no words came. He didn't stop moving forward, and Esme swallowed tightly when she realized he was close enough that she could smell alcohol on his breath. She wanted to run back upstairs to the room she and Barry shared, but that likely wouldn't have been significantly less uncomfortable. She cursed herself for coming down for water, convinced that a lessened hangover tomorrow was surely better than this.

"You're just a piece of ass to him, you know," Ben said, and saw him stumble over his own feet, and reach out to the counter to steady himself. This brought them even closer, his mouth inches from hers. ""He's just trying to prove he can take what's mine. It's what he's always done."

"I wasn't yours," Esme said, sliding further down the counter, away from him. His breath mixed with beer mingled with the scent of his cologne was impossibly familiar. He smelled like years of her life; like long, extended periods of lovemaking, and like rough, rushed quickies. Memories surfaced that she tried to shove away—the feel of his lips against hers, the feel of his thumb languorously sliding across her nipple, drawing shivers of pleasure, the feel of his tongue reaching out to hers.

She closed her eyes tightly, tried to remind herself of reality. It had ended badly for her, on more than a few occasions. Over and over again she had come to the realization she was just someone to call on when he was lonely, or bored, or when he just needed a release. So what had made her go back each time, except for the sweet touch of his caress, the incredible feel of him stretching her open when he slid inside of her. Would she feel him inside of her tonight?

Of course not.

It embarrassed her to think that all those times she went back to his bed and pretended that she was only there for the sex, she was really just waiting for him to let his guard down, to get used to her presence next to him, to stop resisting, and to stop looking for someone else. She had wanted it to be so easy to be with her, that the demands of other girls for gifts and time and non-sexual affection seemed bothersome by comparison. But still, she remained the one he went to when he wanted to fuck.

Ben was looking at her expectantly, and she realized he must have asked her something else, "What?" she said. She felt ill, because she wanted to run upstairs but there was nothing up there to run to anymore.

I'm in over my head

.

"I asked if you knew what was going to happen next."

Esme shook her head as if on command. His shirt wasn't tight, but it hugged his chest and biceps the way a shirt should. Neither Barry nor Ben was bulky, but Barry had more mass than Ben. Ben was lean muscle and slim hips, hips she could still feel under her hands. Barry still had some of the bulk from his high school football days. He'd had the strength to pin her against walls and hold her thighs to keep her off the ground while he had his way with her.

"He's going to end—whatever this thing you two have is. He's had his fun, and he got what he wanted. I found out, and he proved he could take you from me. He won, and the game is over, and you won't be fun for him anymore."

Esme shook her head, trying to clear the haze the alcohol was causing. "Won what?"

Ben smiled hinted at something seductive, "Won you."

"Some win," sarcasm dripped from her voice. "You didn't want me." Saying the words out loud was harder than she thought it would be. How do you let go of your first?

"I wanted you," he said, his hand suddenly on her abdomen, sliding down and grabbing her crotch through her skirt. She pushed his hand away, "You're getting married."

"I chose you. You called me and I chose you."

Esme laughed, feeling hysteria bubble up in her. "You called me and fucked me and left."

He shook his head. "I called again."

"You never broke it off."

"Why would I, if you weren't going to answer my calls, weren't going to talk to me."

Esme shook her head. He was trying to hurt her, to make her think she'd made a mistake. But he wouldn't have chosen her and she no longer wanted him to. Anyone that would talk like this just to fuck with someone's head was sick.

"You were with someone. You were in a relationship."

"And that's so much worse than fucking me one night then opening your legs for my best friend the next morning?" Esme recoiled, finding it hard to believe that Barry had let him know about their first time, particularly if he hadn't been trying to make Ben furious. He pressed forward again, this time pinning her against the counter. She could hear the malice in his voice when he asked, "Did you like that? Did you like having cum from two guys in you at once? Because there's no way that my sperm wasn't still swimming around inside you when you took on his load."

Impossibly, tears welled in her eyes, because of course he would think of this. How could he think anything else? How could Barry look at her and think of anything else? She wanted to throw up, but first she wanted to claw off his face. She hated him for this, hated his hot breath on her cheek, hated the look of disgust on his face.

But why? Wasn't she disgusting?

But he was also disgusting, and she was disgusted by his attempt to rewrite history when all those years he must have known how she felt about him. She was disgusted that he would try to convince her that she'd finally gotten his attention, finally brought him to a place where he would have chosen her over anyone else, rather than as extracurricular pussy. And her fury and her disgust made her ache inside for Barry, who'd clearly lost interest. She might not have believed it if he hadn't told Ben that she'd—but it didn't matter. In a strange way, they all deserved each other. But Ben would never convince her that he would have chosen her over Audrey, cute little petite Audrey with her large breasts and porcelain skin.

A glance down confirmed that Ben was aroused, but she still felt safe calling his bluff.

"You wouldn't have chosen me back then," Esme said, pushing him back a few feet before she went back to the counter and lifted herself onto the edge, perching her feet against the cabinets below her and opening her legs. Her skirt slid up to her hips, exposing the insides of tanned, lean thighs, "And you wouldn't choose me now."

She felt power taunting him like this, knowing he was hard and would lose face because he would have to refuse her. She was unexpectedly aroused when she saw his face flush, saw his mouth fall open, saw his gaze fall between her legs. She pulled her skirt up, allowing him a clear view of black lace, further teasing him when he couldn't do anything about it.

So she was surprised at the speed with which he came to her, surprised at the sureness of his mouth when it descended on hers, his own lips urging hers open, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She was equally surprised by the speed with which she opened her mouth to him, snaked her arms around him, because it had been so long, and a kiss was just a kiss. His kiss increased the dizziness the beer had caused and she felt herself melting against him.

This isn't going to end well.

And this time, it wasn't what she wanted.

Ben buried one hand in her hair, holding her in place as he kissed her, not seeming to notice, or to care, that she had stopped kissing him back. She didn't feel powerful anymore, and felt betrayed by the heat building between her legs, the dampness that came in anticipation of his entry.

He finally pulled away long enough for them to get a breath out, to whisper her name, and she got out, "Ben, this isn't -" before his mouth was on hers again. Her heart pounded in her chest, she wasn't getting enough air. Suddenly she felt the hand not buried in her hair pulling her panties to the side.

Esme jumped slightly when shefelt the tentative touch of fingers, searching for readiness. He wasn't holding her arms, wasn't pinning her down. She could have done more to stop it if she'd been able to think straight, but suddenly he pushed inside her, fast and hard, no tenderness about it. He had managed to free himself from his boxers by pushing his pants and boxers down in the front, He hadn't even bothered to push his pants off his hips.

The edge of the counter felt sharp and cut into her thighs, he pulled out halfway and thrust again, tore his mouth away to moan, to whisper her name, to whisper a curse, as he kept plunging into her. "Oh, fuck, Esme. Fuck."

What had she expected? "You're so tight."

This couldn't go on. "Ben, you have to get off-"

The gutteral grunt that followed his sixth thrust made her heart sink, and she felt a warm flood inside her, felt his cock pulse as he unloaded inside of her. Ben stilled, frozen, his head thrown back and his eyes closed until the last shudder from his cock signaled the end of his orgasm. It had been over in less than a minute. He probably took more time and care masterbating into a tissue.

After, Ben had the decency to look shocked, and appalled, at what had happened. He recovered quickly enough, pulling back and tucking himself back into his jeans.

"There," he said, zipping his fly and leaning in to say the next part directly in her ear. The smell of alcohol was overpowering, and she wondered if he'd even remember this in the morning. "I got off."

Esme reached down and pulled her panties into place, dismayed to feel the semen seeping out between her legs and coating her fingers. She pushed her skirt down and got off the counter, feeling nauseous and ready to throw up.

Once her attention was brought back to what had happened, she realized Ben was holding out a paper towel to her. "Try to clean yourself up as best you can before going back out there."

She couldn't look at him, just took the paper towel and turned away, her cheeks hot.

"Neither of us is going to say anything about this, Esme. I can hardly tell Barry what a little cockwhore you are without ruining everything. And what could you possibly say to explain yourself?" he laughed softly. Derisively. "But all the same, I don't recommend you going to him with my cum leaking out of your cunt—" he lowered his voice, ran a finger down her spine, "not again, I mean."

Esme kept the tears at bay, not willing to give him the satisfaction. She waited until Ben had left before she lowered herself to the floor and buried her face in her hands. She had lost control of the entire weekend, she had lost Barry and now...now this.

**

The climb up the stairs seemed like a walk down a gangplank. She prayed Barry would be asleep, because if he wasn't, he would take one look at her and know. He'd know, and he'd know he'd been right to end their relationship. And if he couldn't tell just from looking at her face, how would she explain the need to take another shower when she'd just had one before the movie?

Esme opened the door gingerly and found him in the same position he'd been in when she left, which shouldn't have been surprising, since she likely hadn't been downstairs more than ten minutes, most of that time spent trying to figure out how to get herself off the floor. Entering the room, she pressed her legs together as she felt more cum seep out of her pussy, collecting in her panties, which were already soaked. Barry sat up in bed, saw the expression on her face and, frowning, stood to come to her. Would he be able to smell sex on her? She tried to walk past him but he grabbed her, pulled her close, and held her face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Em." He whispered. "I hate to admit it but I've been insanely jealous since Ben showed up. All I can think about is him..." he choked on the words, and abandoned the thought. "But I am so sorry if my stubborn jealousy has made this weekend uncomfortable for you. I know it had to come out, I just wasn't prepared for it to be tonight." He shook his head ruefully. "I thought we'd have more time, I mean, I planned to tell him first, to prepare him. I planned to tell him, and I planned that he would punch me, and I planned that I would tell him that he could hate it all he wanted but I was falling in-" Barry stopped short, and a flush spread through his cheeks. "I planned to tell you that first."

She should have been happy, ecstatic even. She nodded dumbly, instead. She knew that by letting him speak first, she lost the only chance she had to tell him about what had happened between herself and Ben in the kitchen, lost the only chance she had to explain that she hadn't intended for it to happen—but she knew knowing would just renew his jealousy, whether or not he believed her intentions. His eyes were like coffee, and she wanted to get lost in the moment and wrap her her arms around him, but the reality of the situation could not be escaped.

"I

am

in over my head, Em. But I wouldn't give that up."

Esme shifted on her feet uncomfortably, squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears in. His eyebrows drew together, concerned. And of course she was happy, but now she was terrified. A tear tracked its way down her cheek and he pulled her close, "Please don't cry," he said into her hair.

Barry pulled away again and brushed his lips against hers, sending shivers down her body. His hands traveled down her sides, and he backed up, tugging her to the bed. She realized he'd changed into a T-shirt and pajama pants, that he hadn't stayed in the same place while she was downstairs. He was looking unkempt, like he'd been running his hands through his hair, and the stubble that had grown over the day added to the look. He looked more gorgeous than he'd ever looked.

And she was leaking another man's cum.

Not knowing what else to do, how to hold on, Esme looked up at him and pushed his pants down, encouraged to see he was semi-hard already. She slipped out of her skirt and shirt and knelt in front of him.

Barry watched her, transfixed, as she opened her mouth and took hold of his cock, sucking him while she ran her fingernails up and down his thighs, dark brown curls cascading down her back. Barry felt himself growing in her mouth, felt his skin tingle where her hands touched him. He might have preferred for her to tell him what she was thinking, but getting down on her knees for him was a close second. She'd done it before, of course, he'd seen her on her knees plenty of times. But he was usually sitting down. She'd never been so intent on sucking his cock that she took him where he stood.

Her mouth was hot and soon he was covered in her saliva. She licked at him, and he watched her tongue slide along his member before, convinced he was fully aroused, she began sucking him in earnest. He'd had her a few hours prior, so cumming immediately was easy to resist, but after a few minutes of licking and sucking and sending shudders though him, she added her hands to the mix.

Esme formed rings with the thumb and forefinger of each hand and slid up and down his cock as she licked at the tip, then began twisting her hands in opposite directions, letting them slide over his wet dick, creating sensations he hadn't known were possible. She paused the hand movements long enough to slide her head forward, relax her jaw, and slide the tip into her throat, bobbing a few times before moving her mouth away, licking at the tip and resuming her hand motions. She repeated the process over and over until he was moaning and telling her to stop.

He pushed her head away and looked down at her, looked down at her flushed face and reddened mouth, "I want to be inside you, Em. I want to fuck your pussy."

Esme released his cock from her hands and shook her head, gazed up at him and moved his hands to the sides of her head, encouraging him wordlessly to take handfuls of her hair before she whispered, "Fuck my mouth, Barry."

He looked pained for a moment but held her head still. Esme relaxed her jaw, tried her best to open her throat, as Barry towered over her where she kneeled, rocking his hips back and forth slowly, gently leading his stiff cock in and out of her mouth, the tip sinking into her throat.

Esme moaned and, encouraged, he held firmer to her hair and sped up his movements. It didn't take long before his breaths were short and he had forgotten to be gentle, was holding her head in place while his thrusts became more and more urgent.

When she could feel he was close to cumming Esme pushed his hands away from her head and pulled her mouth off him. Barry looked down questioningly at her, but stopped thinking when she took him in her hand and started jerking him off. Her knees were killing her but she couldn't stop, wanted him to cum. And it wasn't long before he shuddered and groaned and started spurting white fluid. He came all over her, leaving white trails on her face and chest.

"Oh, God, that was fantastic," Barry said, watching in wonder as his cum spread down her chest and abdomen.

Esme smiled up at him, looking satisfied and oddly relieved. He watched in wonder as she stood and moved in close, giving him a firm kiss on the lips before backing away and grinning ruefully. "I think I need another shower."