A/N: This is an old NaNo about threeway love between a bisexual femdom, her husband, and a Black woman that I'm trying to jump start. Though it has a kinky character, it's not a kinky story per se.
Smoking was a piss poor way for Griffin Gray's wife to let him know she'd decided not to try for a baby.
He and his wife Luz had a spacious and modern three-story house in San Francisco's posh Marina District, right on the waterfront; yet as soon as he'd stepped through the front door, the stink of cigarettes had flared his narrow nostrils and sent him hurtling back to one of his band's earlier gigs in the seediest of San Francisco's Tenderloin nightclubs. For the whole damn foyer to smell like an ashtray, Luz probably hadn't been smoking alone during his week away in Los Angeles. She'd probably thrown a party or two, which could explain why she hadn't returned his calls about her appointment with a baby doctor.
Well, that and the fact she wanted a divorce. He was as disheartened at the thought as he was exhausted from band rehearsals.
His tall frame slumped under the weight of two guitars and a leather duffel bag, while he kicked the door shut with a big-booted foot. Griffin dropped his gear on the hardwood floor as he stretched his thick neck to work out a knot in his upper back. Dumb hopeful bastard that he was, he'd slept poorly that week, worrying whether the recording schedule for his fourth album would require shuffling to accommodate his pregnant wife.
"Wasted worry," he drawled, but still clung to the hope a baby might keep nine years of marriage from being a total loss.
After he crossed through a sunny sitting room full of white leather furniture they rarely used, Griffin stopped short in the kitchen, the only room in the house he thought of as his. His dark eyes looked around disappointedly. It seemed plenty of people had been there but apparently not the maid. Martini glasses and liquor bottles―including several of his wife's favorite whiskeys―littered the butcher block. Funny how he was the musician but she was the one who couldn't stop partying, even though Griffin had tried for years to settle her down. They were both close to thirty, and he was tired of drunken antics.
Such as finding a pair of panties in the Wonder Woman mixer he'd special ordered.
And while Luz was smoking again, at least the panties in the mixer weren't hers. His wife had expensive tastes. Even when they'd been broke, he'd never seen her bubble ass in a polyester thong.
Shaking his head, Griffin grabbed a wooden spoon and plucked the panties out of his prized kitchen appliance. His heart was hurt. Wonder Woman was his favorite comic heroine, after Storm, and the mixer was the only cheerful thing in the otherwise black, white, and marble kitchen.
He would have to scald the mixer before he did any baking. Too tired to clean and cook, Griffin scratched his plan to spend the evening with a batch of celebratory cookies, a pot roast, and some quiet time with Luz.
Ordinarily he didn't mind doing the light housework. Having grown up in a trailer park in Jacksonville, FL where he'd mowed the lawns of fancy houses to keep money in his pocket and himself out of trouble, Griffin took pride in keeping up his home. But the outrageous mess, plus his wife drinking and smoking again, stripped him of what little energy he had. He suddenly felt bone tired and licked his lips, fighting off melancholy.
Worrying his pink bottom lip with his teeth, Griffin crossed the large kitchen to a frosted glass door. He pushed through to a solarium that faced the rear of the house and a stunning saltwater pool. He'd expected to see his wife lounging on a chaise, enjoying a rare sunny day in late October. Instead, he heard voices drifting through the open bamboo doors of the master bedroom.
When Griffin stepped inside the ultra modern boudoir, he found Luz half dressed and stretched out on her stomach next to a twiggy redhead who was painting his wife's fingernails. Long legs kicking at the white lacquer headboard, both women looked at him, but only his wife held his gaze. The redhead didn't seem interested in him, just like most of the women Luz had been bringing home for threesomes lately.
Not for the first time, Griffin wondered if he were the only thing keeping his bisexual wife from solely becoming a lesbian. If that were her reason for wanting a divorce, he was fucked.
"Hi, honey. I'm home," he said tersely. "Who's this?"
"Mia. She's a model. We took some shots today."
"Mmhmm." Though Luz was a fetish photographer among other things, a photo shoot didn't sufficiently explain why his wife was the one with her titties out. "You're blonde now," he drawled, noting she'd dyed her maple hair a dirty flaxen shade she hadn't sported since they'd lived in Los Angeles.
"If you want me to be housewife Barbie, I should look the part." Animosity burned in her amber eyes, as bright as the smoldering cigarette between her fingertips. "How was your trip, honey?"
"Tiring." Griffin didn't want to fight, but the bitter tone of her voice suggested she did. "I was hoping to grab a shower, then a nap." He raised a black eyebrow at the model.
"Mia's nearly finished." Luz held up one tawny hand and examined her black manicure. "By the time you get out of the shower, you'll have the bed to yourself."
He didn't want the bed to himself but didn't say that for fear of his words being taken as an invitation for Mia to stay. That seemed to be his wife's design. Luz didn't artfully arrange her body across their bed just to turn him on anymore. Regardless, her bare breasts and sheer nude panties certainly were enticing after a week away. The fake blonde hair, like her fake nose, however, didn't do much for him; but her round hips and ass still reminded him of the earthy Latina beauty she'd been when they'd met.
Underneath the bored California bimbo she was pretending to be, Luz had a colorful past and a big heart. Unfortunately, she also had a cutting tongue and a big brain that constantly outfoxed him.
Griffin cleared his throat. "I was hoping we could talk. Alone."
He cocked his head and glanced at Mia, indicating he'd like some privacy, but his wife didn't take the hint. Maybe she just didn't give a damn. Fear of losing her tightened his chest. "Your fertility appointment, for one."
"I didn't go. I'm not mother material."
He scowled. "How do you know that if you didn't go?"
"Because I know myself." She blew on her nails. "I've told you what I want out of life, and it doesn't include kids and a picket fence."
Her airy nonchalance clenched his jaw. "At counseling, you said you'd try. You swore up and down."
"I said I'd try to save our marriage. You're the only one who thinks that means having a baby."
"You say that like babies are a plague instead of a miracle." He glanced coldly from his wife to Mia, who seemed amused by his Southern drawl. Anger had thickened his accent, while fear continued to form a knot in his chest. "Would you mind asking your friend to give us a minute alone so we can discuss our goddamn future?"
"What's to discuss? I'm not going to sit around this house with my legs open, waiting for you to come home and knock me up."
"But apparently you don't mind sitting around with your titties out," Griffin retorted.
She sat up and defiantly jiggled a breast in each hand. "Half of California has seen my breasts already, or don't you remember when I used to be a stripper? When I paid for the rent and studio time, back when you were a broke, no-name guy with a guitar?"
Mia snickered but she wasn't laughing at Luz, who cocked one tapered brow and looked as unimpressed with him as her filthy rich father, Cruz, always had. There was no denying Griffin had low class roots, but she'd never looked down on him until a few months ago when he'd replaced her as the band's manager. Divorce talk soon had followed.
"I don't see me being a housewife while you travel the world, being a rock star." Luz's big, amber eyes were as piercing and icy as an owl's. "A baby is not a consolation prize for the life you stole from me when you fired me!"
"Oh, here we go," he muttered dismissively. Unwilling to fight about family values in front of a stranger―especially since only he seemed to have any―Griffin stomped around the bed toward a sliding glass wall that overlooked the pool. He turned right and pushed through another frosted door into the bathroom, and then reached behind his neck to yank a black T-shirt over his head.
"Shit. Shit!" He cursed in a shaky voice that betrayed the regrets and insecurities he'd concealed from his wife. Bare-chested, he walked to a pedestal sink to splash cold water on his face.
He didn't want to get divorced from a woman who'd once given the finger to her father, wealth, status, and even college in order to take care of his broke ass. Why in hell was she quitting now, after he'd finally made it big and could give her what she deserved? His mama had worked hard all her life and had been grateful when Griffin had given her the means to retire early.
Luz was different, in ways he loved but also in ways he found intimidating. Some nights, he felt so overwhelmed by the things she'd done for him that Griffin spent hours between her thighs, worshipping her. Other nights, he felt so ashamed that he crawled in a bottle and tried to forget.
In a large, oval vanity mirror, he looked like the pop star he'd become by way of a pretty face, a rugged body, and a sultry voice that made ladies swoon. Inside, he still felt like a stray Luz had carried in from the cold. Over the past nine years, Griffin had done everything he could to become worthy of her, had even learned to like her alternative take on marriage. His wife threw affection at him like bones to a dog, and he held on tenaciously in turn, which was fine by him as long as his place was beside her. Together, they'd once seemed invincible.
Jealousy boiled in his veins at the thought of Mia stretched out on his side of the bed, with her feet on his goddamn pillow, and his nostrils flared. The problem with being as loyal as a dog was that dogs could be put down.
"Fuck that!" He burst out of the bathroom, prepared to kick Mia out and then lock Luz in their bedroom until she changed her mind. Dark eyes wild, he stopped as soon as he found his wife alone, sitting at the foot of the bed.
Luz had put on a bra and sheer thigh highs that matched her panties. She looked at him and then at her manicure, before pulling on over-the-knee boots.
"You're going out?"
"To Isa," Luz named a popular French restaurant in the Marina. "Mia went ahead to get us a table, since you obviously aren't in the mood for company."
"Not for her company. I'd like to spend the night with my wife."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't talk to me in that 'little woman' tone of voice, like I owe you a blow job because you've had a hard week."
"That ain't what I meant."
"Isn't it? You were all hot and heavy when you called from the airport. Why else do you think I arranged some entertainment?"
"You know I don't like hungry looking broads," he referenced Mia, who probably wanted connections as much as she needed a sandwich.
Luz stood with her hip jutted out, and flipped long hair off of her shoulder. Tongue teasing her teeth, she looked him up and down, and then snapped her bra strap with her thumb. She sashayed toward him like a lioness on the prowl.
Though unsure if she wanted to fuck him or fight, Griffin held his ground. Maybe love making would buy him another chance. She always sounded loving while she was whimpering his name.
Luz said, "If you want some, get on your knees and show me how much."
Griffin touched her hair and then traced the elegant shape of her lips, his thumb removing sticky gloss that made her mouth look pouty and cheap. God, he missed the way she used to look, unaffected and feral. "I just want to talk to you."
She rolled her eyes.
When he kissed her, she allowed it but didn't kiss him back in kind. "Don't go."
"Don't tell me what to do." Luz turned her cheek away from his hand, then smacked his fingers away from her throat. "I'll be back soon enough."
"I'm talking about us. Don't quit on me, babe." His finger hooked the cup of her bra and pulled her forward, exposing her breast. An aggressive woman, sometimes she would only take him seriously if he got aggressive. Their arguments often teetered on the edge of arousal. She certainly didn't complain when he roughly pinched her hard, caramel nipple.
Reluctantly, Griffin tucked her breast back into her bra. If sex could buy happiness, all the wild nights they'd had would've made their marriage heaven. "When we went to counseling, you said you still love me."
"Not enough to do this for you, Griff. A baby can't fix what's wrong with us. I just can't do it!" She shucked her head, tossing longish bangs out of her eyes which had darkened with sadness.
God, he knew that look, and it terrified him. She had left him before. He scrubbed his face, trying not to break down.
"I can't do it," Luz repeated. "I'm not the maternal type."
"You're only saying that 'cause you're scared of ending up like your mama."
Her eyes caught fire. "Why would you bring that up? My mother died having me, and you're throwing it in my face? Asshole!" She carried on in Spanish with curses he only understood from the way she got all up in his grill. "Get it through your thick head that I'm not into your traditional family fantasies. Have I ever done anything to suggest I would be?"
"Yeah," he growled. "You married me."
"We all make mistakes."
Cold as ice cubes, her words choked him.
"We were too young," she said of their hasty wedding at age nineteen. "Hella too young to realize we don't want the same things."
Griffin shook his head, denying the terrible turn their conversation had taken. He grabbed her arm when she tried to turn away from him. "I still want you, so I guess what you're saying is that you don't want me no more. Right? You're a full on fucking lesbian now, is that it?"
Luz wrenched free of his grasp and stomped to the bed, from which she plucked a yellow slip dress. "No, but you're a caveman for being threatened by the idea."
"How the hell am I supposed to feel? You haven't called me in days, then I come home to find you in our bed with some skeletal broad I wouldn't look at twice even if I were drunk off my ass!" His blood pressure rose while he watched her don the dress and a long sweater coat. "You never think of me when you set up these threesomes. Meanwhile, I only do this kinky shit for you."
"With shame! I finally figured out that you're ashamed of everything I do. I guess that's why you made me give up taking sessions to be your manager," she said of her past as a dominatrix.
"You didn't need to do that no more. Now you don't have to work no more. Why is that a bad thing?"
"Because every time you take something from me, you're just trying to forget that I made you!" She jabbed his chest, her lip trembling.
Griffin wasn't sure if she was just that angry, or if she were going to cry. "We made it together," he insisted, but that only seemed to anger her further. He caught her hand and kissed it before she stomped away. "We're set, babe. You don't have to lift a finger ever again. Left up to me―"
"I'd be barefoot and pregnant." Luz grabbed a vintage cigarette case from the walnut bureau. "And probably living on a farm in Nowhere, Florida, or wherever it is that you're from," she hissed while she lit a cigarette. "But I'm sure your trailer trash mother would be so pleased that she'd stop talking shit about me for a change."
The knot in Griffin's chest exploded into bitterness and anger. "Your mama being dead don't give you any right to say a harsh word about mine!" He lunged forward and grabbed her arm again, just as she reached for her purse.
"Let go of me!" Luz twisted her wrist inside his vise grip. "You're hurting me!"
"You're hurting me!" His voice was hoarse with fear of letting her walk out the door, perhaps never to return. "I mean, I try not to play into the dumb hick stereotype, but now I see what a dipshit I was to fall in love with a rich bitch that don't know her heart from a cold, hard diamond!"
He must've struck a nerve because Luz slapped him.
The cigarette in her hand put smoke in his eyes, which made him too blind to see the wild way she thrashed, trying to get free of his hold. She shoved away, and in the collision, her cigarette burned his finger.
"Fuck!" He stuck his finger in his mouth, only to cuss a blue streak after the heat of his tongue worsened the pain. Griffin rushed to the bathroom and ran the cold tap over his hand. The wound wasn't serious, just a small crescent shaped burn at the base of his ring finger. His wedding ring had caught the worst of it.
"Crazy bitch," he mumbled, but immediately regretted his animosity and the brutish behavior that had led to the burn. Usually, he didn't manhandle Luz―unless she asked―but usually, he wasn't desperate to keep her from leaving him.
Feeling like he'd just messed everything up, he sat on the toilet and dropped his forehead against the porcelain sink, while the tap still ran over his hand. The cold water numbed him and concealed the sound of his grief when he started to cry. Griffin tried to be quiet about it, not sure if Luz were still in the bedroom and waiting to pounce as soon as he returned.
He didn't realize that she'd left until almost ten minutes later, when the horrible screech of a car crash penetrated the house walls, and then his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.