Bed time

The apartment had quieted.

Nia was in the guest room, probably already under the sheets. Marcus hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the dark room. He gave John a pat on the shoulder in passing and disappeared into his bedroom. No smirk. No comment. That made it worse somehow.

John stood in the hallway, his skin still tingling from the things Nia had done to him. Said to him. He didn’t want to look Claire in the eye.

He lingered there until she passed by in silence, her shoulder brushing his. She didn’t say anything either.

She just walked to their room and began undressing.

John followed a few moments later.

When he stepped inside, she was already under the covers, facing the window. The room smelled like her hair, and something faintly sweet. Wine. Lotion. And maybe… something else.

He slid into bed beside her, slow and unsure.

Claire didn’t move.

He stared at the ceiling. “You’re quiet.”

“So are you,” she replied, voice soft, almost playful.

He turned onto his side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shifted just enough to glance at him. “About what?”

“About tonight. The game. The… dark room.”

Claire smiled faintly. “Was it too much?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

She rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet up over her chest. “I thought you were having fun.”

“I was… kind of.” He paused. “It’s just…”

“You weren’t expecting to get fingered by Marcus’s sexfriend?” she teased.

John flushed. “She called me cucky.”

Claire bit her lip.

“I didn’t expect that,” he whispered.

She reached over, brushed his hair back gently. “You didn’t stop her either.”

John hesitated. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Did you want to stop her?”

His mouth opened. Closed.

Claire tilted her head. “That’s what I thought.”

There was a long pause.

Then he asked it—the question hanging between them since she walked out of that dark room.

“What happened with Marcus?”

Claire looked at the ceiling. “You want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

She turned toward him fully, her voice barely above a whisper. “We kissed.”

His stomach tightened. “How long?”

“A while.”

“Was it part of the game?”

Claire gave a slow shrug. “Maybe at first. Then it just… felt good.”

John swallowed. His throat felt dry. “You moaned.”

Her eyes twitched, just slightly. “I know.”

He looked down at the sheets. “You knew I was listening?”

“I hoped you were.”

He felt heat rise in his face. “Why?”

She leaned in slightly, her lips near his ear. “Because I wanted you to hear how I sound when I’m turned on by someone else.”

John let out a shaky breath.

She kissed his cheek. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She pushed him onto his back, straddled his waist under the covers. Her voice dropped. “Did it make you hard?”

His hands rested on her thighs, trembling slightly.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Claire moved her hips just enough for him to feel her against him. “Was it jealousy?”

“Maybe.”

“Or was it because I was kissing him?”

“I don’t know…”

She smiled. “That’s the hottest part.”

He moaned softly as she rocked again.

Her voice turned sultry. “You heard how I moaned for him.”

John shut his eyes.

Claire leaned forward, her hair tickling his face. “He’s so different from you. Bigger. Slower. Confident.”

He twitched beneath her.

She laughed under her breath. “Even the way he held my neck when he kissed me… I felt it down my spine.”

“Claire…”

She brushed her lips across his. “And all you could do was stand there while Nia whispered all the dirty things you’re too scared to say.”

John’s hips bucked up instinctively, but she pulled back, denying him.

“No,” she said gently. “Not yet.”

He looked at her, begging without words.

She slid her hand down his chest, slow and deliberate. “If I let you cum now… you’ll forget what it felt like to hear me want someone else.”

His breath shuddered.

“You don’t want to forget that, do you?”

He shook his head.

She bent close again, lips barely brushing his. “Do you want me to kiss him again?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Claire smiled. “What if I let him take my top off next time?”

John closed his eyes. “Claire…”

Her voice was a whisper. “What if I wanted more?”

He didn’t answer.

She sat up straight, her eyes on his.

“Would you stop me?”

John stared at her, words trapped in his throat.

Claire leaned down, kissed him once—tender and slow.

Then she whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

She climbed off him and pulled the blanket up to her chest again, turning her back to him like nothing happened.

John lay there in silence.

Staring at the ceiling.

Hard.

Confused.

And impossibly turned on.