Chapter 73: No Defense

Elena stood in the doorway with nothing in her mouth.

The bag was still on the floor. The television was still playing the lecture hall. Her own voice came out of the speakers in a moan she recognized too late to stop. On the couch, Ana did not wait for an answer that was not coming. She pulled Edward back by the front of his shirt and kissed him again, deeper than the first time, as if Elena’s silence was the permission she had been waiting for.

Edward did not hold back.

Whatever sadness had been on his face when Ana first showed him the video was gone. What replaced it was something simpler and uglier. He kissed Ana the way he had been kissing her for weeks in rooms with closed doors. His hand went under her top. Ana’s fingers went to his belt. They did not look at Elena while they did it. They did not need to. The point of the idea they had agreed on was that Elena would have to look at them.

Clothes came off in the middle of the living room.

Ana’s top hit the arm of the couch. Edward’s shirt followed. Ana shoved his pants down just far enough and wrapped her hand around him, stroking him hard while the video on the television showed Max driving into Elena from behind. The sound from the speakers and the sound in the room began to overlap — recorded moans and live breathing, a desk in a lecture hall and a couch ten feet from the front door.

Edward lifted Ana, turned her, and bent her over the back of the couch.

He pushed inside her in one thrust.

Ana’s hands clenched on the cushion. A sharp sound left her throat. Edward started fucking her immediately, no warm-up, no glance toward the doorway to see if Elena would scream or run or try to stop it. He held Ana’s hips and used her the way he had been using her in the guest room, only now there was no guest-room door and no car in the driveway to listen for. Elena was the audience.

Elena still did not speak.

She should have felt something clean — rage, humiliation, the simple pain of watching her husband take another woman in their house. That was the feeling the scene was built to produce. It did not arrive. What arrived instead was the same low, traitorous heat that had opened in her office when the campus started talking about her. The video on the television showed her own body being passed around a classroom. In front of her, Edward’s hips snapped against Ana’s. Ana moaned into the fabric of the couch. The two images stacked on top of each other and Elena’s thighs pressed together without her deciding to do it.

She was getting wet.

Edward fucked Ana harder when he realized Elena was still standing there. He wanted her to leave or he wanted her to break. He got neither. Ana pushed back onto him, loud on purpose, one hand reaching back to grab his wrist. The television kept playing. A student in the recording said something filthy to Elena that the speakers made slightly thin. Edward’s breath went ragged. He reached around Ana and rubbed her while he thrust, and Ana came with a sound that filled the living room.

They did not stop.

Edward pulled out only long enough to sit on the couch and pull Ana into his lap. She sank down onto him facing the doorway, facing Elena, and started riding him with her hands on his shoulders. Her breasts moved with every drop of her hips. Edward’s mouth found one of them. Ana looked at Elena over his head while she fucked him, not smiling exactly, just watching to see what the last of Elena’s composure would do.

It did not hold.

Elena’s back met the wall beside the door. Her hand went under her skirt before she had a sentence for what she was doing. She was soaked. Two fingers slid between her folds and started moving in tight, desperate circles. The living room, the video, the wet sound of Ana taking Edward to the base on every downstroke — all of it fed the same hunger that had made her offer her lecture hall away the day before. She was not jealous. She was aching.

She fingered herself the way she had in her locked office, only now there was nothing to bite down on and no door to hide behind. Her other hand braced against the wall. Her eyes stayed open. She watched Edward’s cock disappear into Ana and then watched herself on the television take two students at once, and the two scenes braided together until she could not tell which one was making her legs shake.

Ana noticed.

Of course she noticed. She slowed just enough to make the next few strokes filthy and deliberate, letting Elena see everything. Edward followed her gaze, saw his wife’s hand moving under her skirt, and made a sound that was not quite a laugh. He did not tell Elena to stop. He did not tell her to get out. He fucked up into Ana harder, as if the fact that Elena was touching herself in their doorway was only another piece of the marriage finally telling the truth.

Elena came first.

It hit her standing up, sudden and humiliating and complete. Her head dropped back against the wall. A broken noise left her that the television almost covered. Her fingers kept moving through it because stopping felt worse than being seen. On the couch Ana came again a minute later, clenching around Edward, and Edward followed with a groan against her shoulder, holding her down on him while he finished inside her.

The video on the television was still going.

Elena’s hand was still under her skirt.

No one had said a useful sentence since Edward asked her what the meaning of this was.

The living room smelled like sex and the faint plastic heat of the television. Ana stayed in Edward’s lap, breathing hard, looking at Elena like the idea they had agreed on had worked better than either of them planned. Edward’s forehead rested against Ana’s collarbone. Elena stayed on the wall with her own wetness on her fingers and her own moans still coming out of the speakers, and the thing she could not say out loud was that watching them had not hurt the way it was supposed to.

It had only made her need more.

End of Chapter 73

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