Charley

A tap on her shoulder brought her back. It was Nicky, fully naked now, his large black cock erect and ready. Charley nodded and pulled her hand out from Jordan – again, one finger at a time. Jordan collapsed in Charley's clutches, her pussy stretched and wet. Charley held her ass still, spreading Jordan's cheeks while Nicky slid himself inside. Jordan gasped, suddenly filled up once again.

"Fuck me," Jordan begged Nicky. "Fuck me!"

Charley took her sticky fingers and shoved them into Jordan's mouth – partly so she could taste herself, partly to keep her quiet; the last thing they needed was for Hal to hear them.

Nicky didn't start nearly as slow as Charley had. There was no need to. She'd gotten Jordan nice and ready; he eased in and out of her. Plus, he'd been in the corner getting ready himself, stroking his dick to the sight of the two women feeding on one other. But no matter how cool he tried to sound – how in charge he made himself out to be – while he took hold of Jordan and fucked her from behind, he'd been ready to explode before he'd even started. And Charley could tell.

"I'm gonna cum," Nicky said.

"Uh huh!" Jordan said, spitting out Charley's fingers, nodding vigorously in approval. "I want you to cum in me!"

Nicky's body tensed, his face turned up into a powerless wince as his orgasm built in his hips. "I'm gonna cum," he repeated.

"Do it!" Jordan said.

"O-god..."

And just when it looked as though neither Jordan nor Nicky could take much more, Charley snatched Nicky's dick, pulled it out of Jordan's pussy and into her own mouth, just in time.

"Fuck!" Nicky spit, thrusting forward and nearly knocking Charley to the floor, his hot semen shooting down her throat. She squeezed the shaft free of every drop. It was a big load, filling Charley's entire mouth and spilling from the corners.

Jordan fell sweaty and limp onto the couch, with no intention of moving anytime soon.

7.

Charley woke the next morning to the sound of Hal yelling. But he wasn't with her in the bedroom. Her head was pounding. That, plus the late-morning daylight, and waking up next to a Hal-shaped crater in the bed (she was always the first one up), left her disoriented, wondering if she'd even heard Hal yelling, or if it had been the tail end of a dream she couldn't quite remember. Then she got a chill, and realized that she was laying there wearing nothing.

Nothing but a pair of black panties.

Oh shit.

"Son of a bitch!" Hal screamed.

It hadn't been a dream. The yelling was coming from the living room.

Charley grabbed her robe and ran toward the rage, against her better judgment (whatever that was worth). By the time she got to the living room, her heart thumping in her neck, she was wide awake, with no trace of her earlier grogginess. There were the clothes that she went to bed in – the first time – tossed on the floor. There were the finger- and assprints on the sliding glass door. And there was Hal... on the couch... watching the Tennessee Titans blow it in the fourth quarter.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" he yelled at the big screen. He was slouched down with his feet kicked up, a bowl of pretzels balanced on his chest.

"Hey," Charley said.

"Good morning, Miss Van Winkle!" Hal said. He had a wide grin on his face, despite his anger just moments before. "Looks like someone can't hold their pot." The sound of a whistle grabbed his attention, and just like that he was yelling at the TV once again. "Are you serious! What penalty? That was a clean tackle, asshole!"

Charley tightened the belt on her robe and turned to leave.

"Oh by the way," Hal called out, still facing the screen. "What happened with your friend?"

Charley froze, and held onto the rail to prevent from falling over. "What's that?"

"He's gone," Hal said.

"What do you mean 'gone?'" Charley asked.

"I mean gone like gone," Hal said. "The both of them. No goodbye. No thank you for the hospitality. Nothing." He popped a pretzel into his mouth. "I mean, I don't wanna sound racist, but..."

Charley was back upstairs before Hal could finish that thought. She headed to the guest room, this time opening the door without hesitation. Sure enough, they were gone. No bags. Even the bed had been made. Charley took a deep breath, and swore she could make out the lingering trace of gardenias.

8.

Charley synched the laces on her sneakers. She threw on a pair of sunglasses and grabbed her keys off the dresser. She tucked her wallet into the pocket of her jogging shorts and headed downstairs.

She left her cell phone on the bed, and her engagement ring on the bathroom sink.

"Where you going?" Hal asked from the couch.

Charley slid open the glass door. The air outside left her immediately refreshed. She leaned into the sunlight like a growing plant.

"Going for a hike," she said.

"Now?" Hal asked. "There's only a few minutes left in the game."

Charley turned to screen. "So there is."

"Well, I mean," Hal said, "I don't know. You wanna... do something when it's over?"

Charley stared at the path in the distance leading into the woods, past the trees, past the safety of her own backyard, and fiddled with her lip ring with her tongue, spinning it around and around and around.