Used Ch. 03

Barry dragged his eyes open, noticing the DVD they'd been watching had stopped and the TV was now black, but making a small humming noise. A look down at the other side of the couch confirmed Esme was asleep, her legs tucked underneath her. Their romantic winter weekend getaway had been a success so far, but he still felt like she was holding back. It was hard to blame her, when he felt like he was holding back, too.

Barry sat up, and she stirred, the first sign a flutter of long dark eyelashes, the hint of an unexpected smile. "We've wasted the day," he said, leaning across the couch and brushing a kiss against her neck. She shivered in response, breathed in. "I disagree," she muttered. "I think we've got a lot done. We had a hugely busy morning."

Barry grinned, they'd spent the morning fucking on a king-sized bed on top of an impossibly soft down comforter next to a the roaring fire in the guest bedroom. He would say one thing for his uncle—the man knew how to live right, and while his cabin three hours outside of town at a remote lake was nothing compared to his home on the inlet in town, it was nothing to scoff at.

It was only five but the sun had set, and a glance outside at the steam coming from the spa outdoors confirmed it had heated fully. He glanced down at Esme, who had never really opened her eyes, and pinched under her ribs. "Go get your suit, I'll grab some champagne and we'll meet in the hot tub."

This perked her up, and she looked at him from under hooded lashes. "What are we celebrating?"

Barry leaned in, brushed his lips against hers. "We're celebrating our first romantic weekend together."

Esme tried not to let her heart jump at the thought of more weekends with him, and instead busied herself, pulling up off the couch, wobbling slightly after first standing as sleep hadn't quite let go.

"I forgot to pack shorts so I'll change in my uncle's room, and I'll meet you out there—"

Esme nodded and disappeared down the hallway into one of three guest bedrooms, separate from the master suite on the opposite side of the cabin. The fire they had kept going through a lazy day in bed had burnt itself down to crackling embers, so she carefully placed another log in the fireplace before stripping off her sweats and slipping into her bikini—a white strapless number. She grabbed a couple plush towels from the bathroom, then headed for the door, then thought better of it and made her way back to the bathroom. Her mascara and eyeliner had made it through, but she swiped a coat of coral gloss over her lips and pulled her curls up into a clip at the back of her head.

By the time she'd finished primping, Barry had made it into the hot tub. He'd set a bottle of champagne and two flutes out on a table. Esme opened the sliding glass door that led from the living room off onto the balcony, and shivered against the cold. She tiptoed across the snow-covered patio as fast as she could, dumping the towels onto a nearby hook and creeping up the ladder to the hot tub.

"Wait there, don't get in yet," Barry said, his eyes clouded with desire. Esme sat shivering on the edge of the tub, only her shins immersed in what felt like impossibly hot water. Barry made his way over to her, sliding his hands up her calves, under her knees, and along the inside of her thighs, pushing her legs open wider. She shivered at the same time that heat raced through her, centering between her legs. "Em," he whispered, sliding a finger into her bikini bottom and pulling the fabric aside. A shock of cold air assaulted her, and she breathed in, teeth chattering.

Esme pushed her hips forward as Barry lowered his mouth to her, first licking her once quickly, before settling his mouth over her and sucking gently on her clit. Esme's legs fell open and she reached out, grabbing onto his hair as her head fell back and he tongued her, ever more aggressively, until her knees were shaking and he finally pulled his moth away, leaving her hot and cold and needing to be filled. Barry kneeled on the bench in the tub, so that their faces were level, and lowered his mouth to hers. She could taste herself on his tongue as he kissed her and she whimpered against his mouth, shivering just as waves of heat flowed through her.

***

The motion-sensor spotlights light up the driveway as Audrey pulled her small SUV into the driveway of the lake house. Ben had always been slightly jealous of her Uncle George, but at the same time slightly in awe. A successful man, a business owner and bachelor with no shortage of pretty women willing to grace his arm, but it was the house on the lake he enjoyed the most. He and Barry and usually 4-8 other guys would typically come out here at least once a summer for a week at a time, ride jet-skis on the lake during the day, sitting around a campfire at night just bullshitting and drinking cheap beer. It was his first time out to the house with Audrey, and Ben wasn't sure if it would be the same without the guys.

It didn't help that she was in a mood. She pulled a key off the key ring and handed it to him, "I'll go get some beer before the store in town closes, just head in and turn the heat up a bit, maybe start a fire. The code is 7719."

Ben yanked the door open and practically jumped out of the truck, anxious to get some space. It had been a long drive, and the last hour had been spent sniping at each other over stupid shit, most of it related to the wedding that should have been fully planned months ago. They should have been married months ago, in Vegas, by fucking Elvis. He couldn't take her mother vetoing one more decision before he lost his shit and told the haughty bitch to mind her own business. Behind him, he heard the crunch of snow under the CRV's tires, then noticed fresh-looking tracks leading into the garage. He was sure George was in Cabo this week. He'd probably stopped by the cabin last weekend to check on things at the house, make sure the property was undisturbed.

Ben jogged up the front steps and slid the key into the lock, hearing the chirp of the system as he opened the door. He was punching in the code when he realized he hadn't needed to turn on any lights to see. He looked around the entryway, saw two coats hanging, one a purple North Face that certainly didn't belong to George. "Shit," he muttered, then remembered the tire tracks and headed for the door to the garage, fully expecting to see Barry's truck when he opened the door. So it was a shock to see a familiar looking SUV, complete with the tell-tale dent where she has hit a pole driving off the dealership. Esme. His heart jumped to his throat, and confusion didn't have a chance to settle in before his fists were clenched and he was cursing the one person he had trusted without implicitly not to sneak behind his back to fuck his girl. No, Barry would go after the girl you wanted right in front of you, like it was some sick competition that no one was guaranteed to win—but he'd never not been open about it.

Ben closed the door to the garage lightly, not wanting to draw attention to his arrival. His heart was racing at the thought of seeing her—it had been months—and the realization that it was too late for either he and Audrey or Barry and Esme to head back into town. They were at least stuck in the same house until morning, which was a shame since he'd never had anything but positive memories for this house.

Ben peeked into the master bedroom, looking for signs of baggage, but didn't see any so he continued toward the living room, where the lights were off and a bowl of half-eaten popcorn rested on the coffee table. She liked her popcorn without butter—the weight thing was all consuming with her—but for some reason loaded with salt. The worst was the nights that required garlic salt on the popcorn, when they both woke up in the middle of the night, reaching out for each other instinctively, until they were both panting and the whole room smelled like an Italian kitchen.

Snap out of it, Ben, he told himself, staying in the shadows as he stepped tentatively toward the sliding glass doors to the porch immediately behind the house. They were in the hot tub, and the lights were on outside. Ben stayed in the shadow as he watched. Barry was kissing her, and Esme had her back toward the door, her arms thrown around his shoulders. She was impossibly tan for this time of year—not spray-tan orange, but real skin-cancer making brown created only from UV rays. Her hair, those long wild gypsy curls, were pulled into a clip. Each vertebra was visible along the line of her back, and his fingers danced absently as he recalled the feel of each one under his his touch.

It had been so long, but one develops memory of those moments, that come back and seep in when you least expect it. The wiff of Coco when she is nowhere around. The feel of her hair brushing against your ear as you sit alone on your couch, the memory of her disconcerting, where she was always a comfort. What had gone wrong? He couldn't say, except to say that nothing had ever gone right with them.

As he watched her legs fell even wider apart, and he could tell by the way her head fell backward that Barry was fingering her, sliding his fingers into her that tight pussy. Barry's free hand released the clasp on her bikini top, and the white material slid to the snow-covered porch. Ben wondered absently how many minutes had passed, how much longer before Audrey showed up and found him watching her brother finger-fuck some girl in the hot tub. But town was a 15 minute drive in the summer months, he had time. What he was going to do with that time, he didn't know. Stand here and watch his best friend fuck his girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend. He'd fucked her on-and-off for years, been inside her more times than he could count. When did she become up for grabs among his fucking friends? Fucking Barry. She was fucking Barry.

Ben watched as Barry maneuvered her, so that she was facing the house. Ben stepped back further into the shadows, not wanting to be scene. She was shivering, her nipples tight little buds from desire or the cold or both. It wasn't fair, that her face could look just the same as it did all those times when she'd been fucking him. It wasn't fair that she was fucking someone else, and that he could see every movement replicated for someone else. For fucking Barry. Fuck. Barry.

He wanted to go out there screaming, pull him off her, demand to know what the fuck was going on. And he wanted to watch. He was watching and he wanted to keep watching, and so he kept quite, aware of the hardening of his cock as he watched Esme's breast bounce and Barry slid into her, over and over, his mouth open, his expression looking pained. He was trying not to cum, Ben could tell, because you had to try. You had to force yourself not to unload the second you slid inside her.

Barry grabbed a fistful of Esme's hair, pulling her head back and kissing her. He back arched and those tits were on full display. Ben slid a hand over the front of his pants, repositioning his growing cock, and breathed in as Esme's hair came loose from the clip, and curls as dark as coffee fell down, obscuring his view of her perfect little tits. He could see her lips moving as Barry moved behind her, could almost hear the words he could see her lips form. "Fuck me. Please, fuck me." He could hear her voice in his head, breathless and raspy, urging him on.

The living room wasn't pitch black, there was light coming from the fireplace, but he hadn't been worried about being spotted. They were too absorbed to see him, not even conscious they should be looking, out in the middle of nowhere. But he must have moved, or she must have felt him, because out of nowhere she looked up, looked into the house. She saw him, he knew, because their eyes made contact before her mouth fell open she started to shake, and she came for him, one more time.