The Confessions Game

A/N: This is a selection from Loose, a story I previously shared about a queer physical therapist who gets into a threeway relationship with a femdom and her rockstar husband. You can find more details about Loose on my profile.

*****

While in a meeting with his bandmates and their manager, Blair, Griffin shifted his weight onto a bulge in the back pocket of his jeans. He grinned. In the past month, he'd been keeping his women's panties on his person, and good luck had abounded. The album was finished, and his band was up for a front-page interview in a major magazine to boost the first single.

His grin broadened as he thought back to his girlfriend, Chakah, packing for Fremont and complaining that he'd depleted her underwear supply. She hadn't understood why he couldn't keep one clean pair and leave the rest alone. Griffin had explained that undies were nothing to him without her seasoning on them; and though she'd given him a look, Chakah had rolled with it.

His wife, Luz, enjoyed his habit. Sometimes she made a game of tackling him and finding his good-luck panties, only to use them as a gag and fuck him once she did.

Lost in thoughts of their burgeoning threeway relationship, Griffin declined Blair's offer to take them all out to celebrate. He told his bandmates he had errands to run.

"Gotta get home to his wifey," their bassist, Ace, teased. He made a joke about being whipped that aggravated Griffin's qualms about "submission."

Just thinking the word still made him squirm, despite the late night Internet research he'd done. He'd begun to think he could get down with BDSM if nobody knew, but now he wondered if his inclinations had been evident during his whole ten years of marriage. His wife had been a femdom, after all.

Blair socked Ace's shoulder as the bassist shuffled out of the office behind the other guys. "Don't be insensitive."

Griffin disliked that comment just as much. Since Luz had returned to public life following her car accident, rumors about their divorce were worse than ever. He'd been trying to keep a cool head and focus on the positive, efforts that hadn't been helped by Blair's attempts to parlay the rumors into publicity.

True to form, his manager said, "I'll email you the preview questions for the interview. Like I expected, they asked if the new single is about your divorce."

"And I already told you, it ain't."

"That's gonna be a tough sell, since you dedicated the song to another woman at your New Year's party. Luckily, she's nobody, but..." Blair shrugged.

Griffin struggled to keep his expression neutral. "Chakah's not nobody. She used to be my wife's physical therapist, and now she's a close—" The word friend stuck in his mouth and tasted like a lie. "We're all close."

"You know what I mean: she's not hot. But they're still going to wonder what that was about."

Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from defending Chakah. That would only add fuel to a fire he was trying to put out.

Though much shorter of stature, Blair placed a hand on Griffin's shoulder. He made a sympathetic face that seemed as fake as his tan. "You know, I could get you booked on a talk show tomorrow, if you're willing to confirm the split. Females love a wounded heartthrob, and everyone knows your wife is a raging feminist. We could spin it as—"

"I ain't gettin' divorced, Blair." Griffin shrugged off his manager's cold-fish touch and strode toward the door. "And for the record? Raging feminist pussy is delicious."

Fury made him deaf, dumb, and blind on the elevator ride down to the parking structure. Though he'd only planned to go box and then grab dinner, he ended up at Luz's loft after reading a rumor that she had gotten into an altercation with paparazzi and reinjured her leg. He'd been following her around in the month since she'd moved out of his house, but it wasn't like he interfered or foamed at the mouth like a peeping Tom. He simply felt an undeniable need to check up on her.

He didn't call, even though he now sat in his car across the street from her place. If she picked up, she'd only ask him to agree on a new mediation date, since he'd faked an emergency to get out of the first one.

Griffin banged his fist against the steering wheel, still regretting he'd pulled such a stunt when there wasn't even anything to argue. He had no problem with her getting what California common law said she deserved. Meanwhile, Luz didn't seem to care one way or the other. She just wanted to move on—but to what still scared him, despite two days a week with a shrink. He felt rudderless without someone in his life to love.

"Pathetic," he muttered, though his therapist had said having a big heart didn't necessarily make him needy. Griffin laughed darkly, figuring she'd change her tune if she knew where he was right then.

He picked up his phone to check the time and saw a text message from Chakah. Griffin smiled, hoping she was having a good time in Fremont at her sister's wedding, but the corners of his mouth soon dropped at the news she'd had another run in with her mother Lorraine, who was as mean in her criticisms of Chakah being big as she was steadfast in her denial about Chakah being queer. Her best friend Briggs had sent the message in her stead, saying Chakah needed support.

Fired up on her behalf, Griffin pounded the steering wheel so hard he set off the horn. He called to get the address to Chakah's family's home, needing to wrap his arms around her to be sure she was okay. After the call went to voicemail, he bit the bullet and called Luz for the address.

At first, he thought she wouldn't answer, either. The phone rang several times before he looked up to see Luz standing at her window.

"Shit." Panicked, Griffin started the engine and began to pull away.

Having answered the phone, she said, "I already see you in the car, perv. Why are you leaving?"

After bouncing his dumbass skull off the seat's headrest, Griffin plastered what he hoped was a not-creepy smile on his face. He looked at her and waved.

She flipped him off.

Shifting back into his parking space, he asked, "Would you believe I raced over here as soon as I heard the news?"

"Nice try. I'll be down in a few."

Ten minutes later, Luz pushed through the front doors of her building, carrying a bag. She was talking on the phone and looked stunning in a retro, navy-and-white romper perfectly suited for a balmy June night. With her short, dark hair spiked up and next to no makeup, Luz looked like the hard femme nineteen-year-old girl she'd been when they'd met at a gas station ten years ago.

Griffin popped the locks then pulled his T-shirt up to his nose, hoping he didn't smell as badly as he looked. It shouldn't have mattered. They weren't going on a date. Still, after she slung her bag in the backseat and then climbed in beside him, he felt nervous.

Luz covered her handset. "Her father and sister are with her now, but I gathered that her family still doesn't know about the three of us. If we both show up, Chakah will have to explain it, and I'm sure she's not ready for that conversation right now. In fact, she was hinting that she doesn't want us to be bothered coming."

"Well, Briggs ain't our biggest fan, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have messaged us both if Cha-Cha didn't need us there."

"Good point. He said he'll call when they leave, but it's looking like an all-nighter. He suggested we check into a hotel and come in the morning. Wedding guests are staying at the Hilton."

"Then here comes the cavalry. I just need to run home to get some things." He turned on the car and put it in drive. "You got the hotel's address?" After she showed him a text on her phone, and he entered it in the car's navigation system.

Luz smiled at him. She looked like she was about to say something, but instead touched his hand.

Griffin clasped hers in return; and, during the drive to his house, he lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler over the fact neither of them let go.

His therapist had said he should get over his longing for Luz's approval, even as she was so much like the hard-to-get rich girls he'd lusted after while growing up in the Florida panhandle. However, he no longer was that poor boy; and even if his past explained why he'd wanted Luz at first, it sure as shit couldn't account for him staying with her, or still seeing her in his future.

As far as he was concerned, love explained why her influence and approval made him feel so good, and Griffin couldn't see what in hell was wrong with that.

Once on the way to Fremont, they ended up stuck in traffic even after making a few adjustments to the route. Idling on the highway, Griffin braced his elbow on the window panel. "You know, I thought you were gonna rip me a new one for being at your place tonight."

"I thought about it, but it's not news to me that you're a perv."

Griffin scowled. He'd thought she was joking when she'd called him that earlier. "It ain't like I was jerkin' off."

She raised short, shiny nails to her lips, seeming to conceal a grin while tail lights cast a wicked red glow across her face.

"What? You don't actually think I would?"

Still grinning, Luz said, "I was just thinking that Dominique calls you 'McGruff the Crime Dog' instead of Griff, because he says you get a kick out of staying up under me like 'a nosy, overprotective German shepherd'."

He tried to look offended—especially since McGruff was a bloodhound and her best friend Dominique apparently didn't think he was that sweet tempered—but couldn't deny it was an accurate assessment. Griffin cleared his throat and sat up straighter, feeling uncomfortable.

Luz peered at him, mirth dancing in her eyes. "It's not a bad thing. I've been hoping for a pet anyway. Or a little."

The kink references clicked, and he blurted, "You mean somebody wearing kitty cat ears and a fuzzy butt plug?"

"Maybe. Some just like being petted and trained. Knowing they have a cherished place in my care makes them feel loved, even safe."

He tensed, feeling as though she were reading notes from his therapy sessions. However, instead of diagnosing him with "maladaptive appetites" like his shrink had, Luz saw his needs as things to cherish.

Griffin kept glancing from the cars creeping along around them to her face. She was watching him intently. "Are we really talkin' about this?"

"I don't know, Griff. Are we? This is the furthest you've ever gone in a kink conversation with me without yelling about how you 'ain't fuckin' submissive, for chrissake'."

"Submissive sounds better than perv," he muttered, "but neither of them sounds normal."

"Whose normal? Straight White guys, husbands and wives, and picket-fence families? A lot of us don't fit that mold, so what are we supposed to call ourselves?"

Griffin flushed, trying not to get his back up.

She continued, "People throw names at anyone who doesn't fit their expectations. Normal isn't about what feels right; it's about what looks right, to other people. And as long as you care more about them than you do about me and Cha-Cha, you'll never be happy with us. We'll never be normal, Griff. Get over it."

Griffin swallowed hard, thinking back to what Blair had said about Luz being a "raging feminist" and Chakah not being "hot," each label intended to knock the women down from the pedestals they occupied in his heart. He reminded himself he wasn't a boy anymore and didn't need to prove himself to his parents, rich girls, or guys like Blair, in order to be liked.

Instead, he had love. It overflowed in Luz's eyes, and he'd seen the same in Chakah's. What they needed to know was whether they could trust him to protect their love, and that was a grown man's job.

Griffin put a hand to his heart. "God's honest truth? When we met, you shined so bright that just havin' you in my life made me look good. I depended on that to get ahead in my career as much as I resented it sometimes. I tried so hard to be what I thought was worthy—normal, I guess—that I didn't stop to ask what you thought was worthwhile, and I'm sorry for that from the bottom of my heart. I should've asked what you wanted and needed, the same way you asked me when we started the trio."

"It means a lot to hear you say that." She studied him with soft eyes. "I know you don't like the sound of negotiating a relationship, but I'm just trying to make sure anything we do is good for you too."

"Yeah, it started to click on Valentine's Day when you talked about honorin' what I wanted. Love, honor, and obey—those are the vows, right?"

She snorted. "You never promised to obey, and I sure as shit didn't."

"I might not mind givin' it a try, behind closed doors anyway." He winked at her.

Laughing as she smiled, Luz didn't say anything, instead curling her hand around his biceps and then leaning her head on his shoulder, like a girl listening to a fairytale she'd waited forever to hear.

Griffin continued, "Hard as it's been for me to face all the messed up reasons why we got together, I know why we stayed together: I loved you. Still do."

She still didn't speak, but Griffin saw her run an index finger beneath each of her eyes.

"You cryin', babe?"

"Yes." Luz picked up his hand and raised it to her lips to kiss. "Yes, I am."

Once they made it to the other side of the bridge, traffic wasn't as bad, and they soon reached the Hilton hotel. Unfortunately, they found the front drive packed with cars and the lobby full of people. As they neared the front desk, Griffin swore he heard Chakah's name mentioned as they passed.

The young desk clerk confirmed that the DuBois wedding had packed the hotel. "I'm sorry, but we don't have anything available. Many of the family from out of town just arrived for the big day tomorrow."

Griffin got on his phone to check for available rooms at nearby hotels, but he came up empty. "You sure there ain't nothing you can do? We'll only be here one night. Gotta be somebody with a delayed flight or something."

He reached in his wallet, then slid a large bill across the counter.

"Let me take another look," the clerk said.

Minutes later, he and Luz were riding the elevator up to the bridal suite, which the DuBoises had booked for the weekend. Luz and Griffin had paid the entire suite rental as an anonymous gift to the couple, with the proviso that they would vacate by eight the next morning.

After the doors opened onto their floor, Griffin asked, "Is this weird, or is it just me?"

"It's weird," Luz agreed.

They arrived at their door, which he opened with a card key. To Griffin's relief, the room wasn't hokey. Though he would've liked to share the king size bed for old time's sake, he only placed Luz's bag on the luggage rack in the bedroom. They seemed to have turned a corner, and he didn't want to push his luck.

"I'll take the couch," he offered, awkwardly shucking his head toward the front room. "You feel like room service? I'm starvin'. I skipped dinner."

"Me too. I was getting dressed to meet Dominique when I got Briggs's message." She winced as she sat on the bed. "If there's a dinner salad or something, I'd like that. Anything that doesn't have to be warmed up. I want to use the bath first."

"You okay?"

"I usually have pain around this time of night. A hot bath will help."

"I'll run one for you."

Luz smiled, but said, "It's fine. I can do it."

"I know. I just want to be there for you, that's all." He dropped his bag and reached out to brush back hair from her forehead. Griffin's heart beat faster to realize she wasn't pulling away. "I hate that you got hurt." His words were barely audible, a grumbled confession he hadn't planned to make. "I fuckin' hate it."

Looking pained, Luz pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. "M'ijo, I'm fine. You have to let it go."

"Yeah," he agreed on a deep exhale. She was right, but that fact didn't penetrate deeper than his memories of seeing her lying broken on the street, while their neighbor had screamed at him not to touch her. "But I can't."

Studying him with an intense expression he couldn't read, Luz linked their fingers. "Maybe I can help, if you're game."

Griffin took a deep breath, feeling like all roads had been leading to this door. All he had to do was open it and walk through, which sounded easier than it felt. "What are you gonna do to me?"

She slid her fingers up and down between his in a gentle but arousing massage. "What would you like me to do?"

"You're askin' me?"

"Yes. That's what why it's called a negotiation."

Fast and without thinking, he said, "Make me feel like everything's gonna be okay," and couldn't shake feeling pathetic as he did. "I know that's asking for a lot. I still got a long way to go in therapy. But like I told you before, what you think means everything to me."

She murmured something in Spanish he didn't understand, but it sounded as sweet as her lips felt brushing against his fingertips. "In that case, I have an idea. Get my cosmetics case, will you?"

Griffin went to the luggage rack and unzipped her bag, then frowned at the disorganization. "Still can't pack your clothes without me, huh? This blue dress is as wrinkled as an old man's balls."

"I was in a hurry," Luz defended herself with a chuckle.

Griffin began to relax as he unpacked their things. As requested, he put Luz's cosmetics case on a side table, then moved on to other tasks as she directed. The familiarity of caring for her felt really good, especially since she made an effort to encourage him with caresses and warm thanks.

He ordered room service before running her bath, then later served their meals on an ottoman that he'd moved from the living room to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, Griffin simply watched her while he ate; and for a change, he didn't question the contentment he felt. Whatever it was called, he'd missed having it in his life.

After they both were finished, Griffin helped her out of the tub then toweled her off. He carried away the room service tray while Luz continued to dry her hair. When he returned to the bedroom, she thanked him for the surprise he'd left by her bedside: a few strawberries and a half bottle of champagne he'd ordered with dinner.

Luz sat on the bed and suggested, "Why don't you take off your clothes, and then make us a nightcap?"

"Yes, ma'am." Excited, Griffin did as asked. After sitting next to Luz where she patted the mattress, he handed her a flute of champagne and raised his in a silent toast. Hope was too thick in his throat to say anything.

"Cheers." She slowly looked him over while she sipped.

God, it felt good to be seen. Other women looked at him all the time, but their eyes only skimmed the surface. Much as Luz's perceptiveness used to make him feel naked—and probably always would—he'd come to appreciate that his wife had seen through to the roots of him for years and still had loved him.

A swallow of champagne went down hard as Griffin realized he'd have to start calling her something else besides his wife.

She asked, "Would you like to play a game?"

"What kind of game?"

"I call it Confessions. The point is for me to help you admit something that will make you feel better once it's out. But the game might hurt a little before you get there."

Blood rushed to his head—the one downstairs. "'Hurt'? Like that time you slapped me while you were ridin' me?"

"Yes. Would you like to feel that again?"

Griffin shifted his legs, trying to hide the fact he had a hard-on. "I ain't sayin' no," he muttered noncommittally.

Luz's clasped his jaw and forced his eyes to meet hers. "No half-truths. Anything you say during the game, you have to own it...or else. Do you understand?" Her nails bit into his five o'clock shadow.

It felt like being in therapy, except sexier and less scary. Luz wasn't a detached professional coolly reinterpreting the things he said. She would take care of him, always had. The knowledge was heady.