A Turn of the Screwed (15 page)

It wasn’t exactly easy to explain how she and Keith knew each other.

He lives with us, and he’s fucking and beating my husband.

Yeeaahhh…
no
.

And Noel didn’t want to lie and say she wasn’t married when she legally still was. It impacted what she put down on her tax forms when she filled out the new-hire paperwork.

Overall, a good day. She rode home in silence with Keith, glad when he retired to his room to take a shower without asking about dinner or making additional small talk she was sure he probably didn’t want to engage in, either.

He was, however, making an effort. Overall, at least.

And for that she felt grateful.

Over a month into working at the marina, Noel realized she enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than she had teaching. Yes, it was less pay, but it was far less stressful, even during the most “stressful” times.

Not to mention she could leave work at work, and once she got home her time was all hers instead of needing planning time, or grading papers. She actually had time for more hobbies, like reading for fun. She even went to a couple of dinners with some of her friends from the Suncoast Society group, trying to keep herself from disappearing into a black hole of isolation and self-pity. Not to mention she no longer had to shell out of pocket for school supplies to keep on hand.

Bonus.

She was also trying to decide on an online college to take courses from. If the men were going to insist on giving her time to get herself back on her feet, well, by god, she’d damn well take it.

It was the least they could do for her under the circumstances.

Most days she actually drove herself to work, preferring not to be stuck in such close contact with Keith all the time.

It was bad enough he was living in their house—although under other circumstances she would have considered him the perfect roommate—she didn’t need to subject herself to him all the time. He was a handsome man, and that he was also a nice man, ironically, made it that much harder on her.

Scott, bless his heart, probably thought he was helping by trying to be around and between them when he was home, as if trying to force a bridge to magically appear over the gap between her and Keith. If anything, it made the situation more tense.

Noel and Keith had settled into their own uneasy, distant dance, and she didn’t want to rock that boat.

But now they both had to stay home for two days, alone, as Hurricane Norris closed in on their neck of southwest Florida.

And because of his job, Scott would have to work an emergency forty-eight-hour shift during the storm. Noel and Keith had two hectic days at work of their own, helping prep the marina for the storm. Now all they could do was sit back and wait to see if there was any major damage in the aftermath.

Norris was predicted to hit south of Sarasota. So if they were lucky, they might not get much more than some breezy gusts and thunderstorms, and maybe some higher-than-normal tides.

Noel wasn’t sure if her edginess was due to the impending storm or the stormy days and nights that lay ahead of her without Scott there to buffer her and Keith.

Sure, she knew she could stay in her room and just watch TV and chill out, but dammit, it was
her
house.

And Scott was still
her
husband.

And why the fuck did Keith have to be so goddamned good-looking? He was fucking
hot
. If he was straight, and not fucking her husband, she’d fuck him silly.

She didn’t see hide nor hair of the hunk when she emerged from her bedroom and headed to the kitchen. What she wanted was her own private hurricane party.

Scratch that, she wanted a pity party. As the morning wore on into afternoon and the storm grew closer to land, she knew they were safe. Its projected path, nearly locked in at this point by the NHC, meant they’d be on the good side of the storm when it nearly duplicated Hurricane Charley’s path from ’04. Only it was a much larger storm than Charley, and moving more slowly. They’d get a lot more weather than Sarasota had during Charley, rain bands, wind, and while not as likely on that side of the storm, there was always the potential for a tornado spun off one of the bands.

But they weren’t in a flood zone, their roof was rated up to a Cat 3 storm, their shutters were tightly bolted, the genny would kick in if they lost power…

That meant she could drown her sorrows in a beer if she wanted.

She grabbed a bottle from the fridge and popped the cap off with the church key hanging on the fridge. Then her eyes fell on the cabinet next to the fridge.

Opening it, she found the bottle of tequila right where she’d last seen it.

Fuck it.

She pulled a frosted mug from the freezer, emptied the bottle of beer into it, and topped the mug to the brim with tequila. After stirring it with her finger, she drank a few long swallows and topped it off again with tequila.

That should do it.

She marched into her living room, grabbed her TV remote, plopped her ass down on the middle of her couch, and started channel surfing on her TV.

* * * *

Keith heard Noel moving around out in the kitchen, followed shortly after by the sound of the TV coming on.

He was determined to make this work for all of their sakes. He really liked Noel and didn’t blame her for her current mindset. He
couldn’t
blame her for it.

It also made him feel like shit that she was hurting because of him. If he couldn’t find a way to make this work for the three of them, he’d have to make the sacrifice and say good-bye to Scott.

Not what he wanted to do, of course, because he knew he was balls-deep in love with the guy.

But causing Noel pain wasn’t something he could live with. Scott had pie-in-the-sky hopes that the three of them could find some uneasy truce that would work in the long-term and he wouldn’t have to divorce Noel, but that likely wouldn’t be healthy for Noel. Yes, he could share Scott with Noel. Absolutely.

But if she couldn’t share Scott with him, that was another matter entirely.

He’d finished prepping the house’s exterior and yard for the storm that morning. After taking his shower, he decided to head out to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He’d heard her channel surfing in the living room, changing it every few seconds it sounded like, and he knew she had to be feeling every bit as on edge as he was.

Maybe I need to try to get to know her better. Let her get to know me. Try to have a relationship of some sort with her.

Now was as good as time as any. Scott would be stuck at the EOC for the next forty-eight hours. If there was any more perfect time for Keith to try to work things out with Noel, now would be that time, without Scott trying to throw himself between them as a well-meaning, but ineffectual buffer.

When he emerged in the living room, he paused in the doorway. She had a mug of beer in her hand, nearly drained.

Oh. Great.

Walking on eggshells it would be.

“I was going to make myself a sandwich,” he said. “Would you like me to make you one, too?”

She didn’t look at him. “Sure. Thanks.”

Well, it was a start.

He headed into the kitchen, pulling up short when he saw the open cabinet, the empty beer bottle, and the bottle of tequila on the counter.

Shit.

Okay, not just walking on eggshells then, but walking on eggshells covering a minefield full of IEDs.

He wracked his brain to remember what she liked, how Scott had made her sandwiches in the past, and made hers first before making his. He was turning to carry it out to her when he pulled up short at the sight of her standing in the kitchen doorway, the now-empty mug in her hand.

He offered her the plate. “If it’s not right, I’ll make you another one.”

Okay, those were words he never thought he’d say to someone, but sometimes being a Dominant meant knowing when
not
to push someone.

She stared at the plate in his hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks.” She walked over to the fridge and opened it, pulling out another bottle of beer.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“You might want to go easy on those,” he said, wincing as he said it.

She stared up at him, defiant. “Why?” She stepped in close, her mouth inches from his. “You going to stop me?”

He’d set the plate on the counter, his other hand clenching as he struggled to retain control of himself. What he wanted to do was snatch the mug out of her hand, bend her over his fucking lap, and spank the crap out of her ass.

Again, not productive.

Despite his brain searching for the safest answer, the most instinctive one popped out of his mouth first. “If it was up to me, there’d be a lot of things different around here.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Like what?”

He went toe-to-toe with her, staring down at her. “Like for starters, I’d take away you having to pretend you’re a Dominant when you spend time with Scott when I damn well know that’s the last fucking thing you want to be.”

He knew he didn’t imagine the beer-and-tequila-scented gasp of surprise from her. Her eyes widened, and before she could respond, he pressed forward.

“I know it hasn’t been very fair to you, what’s happened. Being forced to be someone you’re not and watch the man you love go be happy. I know it takes an incredible woman, an incredible amount of love to let go the way you have. I have the highest respect and admiration for you because of it. I don’t know if I could have been as magnanimous as you’ve been. I just wish there was something I could do to make this easy on you and make it not be painful for you.”

For a second, her eyes looked a little too bright. Then she seemed to catch herself. That, or the alcohol did. “I guarantee you I can give you a better fucking blowjob than he can.”

He blinked.
Oookay, that was out of fucking left field.

“What?” he finally asked.

She stepped in, making him step back, the edge of the counter now pressing into his back. “I can suck the chrome off a goddamned trailer hitch,” she said, leaning in, her finger poking him in the chest and accentuating every syllable. “I don’t think it’s very fair that my husband gets to have you and I don’t even get a
chance
. Any time you want to fucking take me up on that, I can guarantee you I’ll put my husband’s oral talents to goddamned
shame
.”

That last poke was the hardest. And on that note, she turned on her heel and headed back to the living room.

Keith stood there, rubbing the sore spot on his chest where she’d been poking him, shocked, speechless.

Mostly because his cock had stirred at the conviction in her tone. No, he wasn’t a stranger to women. He’d fucked several women in his life, before he finally admitted he was more into guys than girls.

Noel was not an unattractive woman.

The conviction in her tone, despite the alcohol’s influence, had worked through him.

His phone buzzing in his pocket startled him. A text from Scott.

Everything okay?

Keith stared at the phone, at first going to ignore it, then typing a reply.

No. Your wife is drunk and wants to give me a blowjob.

Scott’s reply rattled his world even more.

Good! Let her! She gives fucking amazing blowjobs. No offense, even better than you. Definitely better than I do.

Keith heard the dry click in his throat as he swallowed, reading and re-reading the text, not quite sure he was believing what he was reading.

You’re kidding, right?
Keith finally texted back.

Not kidding at all
, Scott replied.
Maybe if she does that, it might make things easier. Unless you don’t want to. If not, I understand. But I’m cool with whatever happens between the two of you. Wouldn’t be very fair of me not to.

Keith had to re-read that reply a few times, too.

Shit, he thought.

Then he stared through the doorway. He could see her sitting on the couch, occasionally rubbing her eyes against her shoulders.

She was crying, or trying not to cry.

Dammit
. He’d basically rejected her, when he knew she already had to be hitting her upper level of rejection as it was.

He carefully considered his reply to Scott.

You’re saying you’re okay with me and your wife having sex?

After a moment, Scott’s reply.
Blowjobs, sex, cuddling, whatever. It’s only fair. I know she’s attracted to you. Whatever you and her are okay with, you have my full blessings.

Keith read that reply several times, too.

Well, okay, then, he thought.

He set the phone on the counter and walked out to the living room to stand directly in front of her, blocking her view of the TV.

She stared up at him, the defiance in her glare a fragile, damaged mask for the pain behind it.

“Did you mean what you said in there?” he asked.

“What?”

He reached down and took the TV remote and beer mug from her and set them on the table. Then he stepped closer, forcing her to have to spread her legs as he stood there in front of her.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d give me a blow job?”

“Why? Want a comparison?”

Without thinking about it, his hand shot out and grabbed her ponytail. He knew this was a dangerous game, one that could blow up in all of their faces, but it was time to shake things up. Either they’d all fall into their proper, happy places—finally—or he’d end up having to move out.

Either way, it wasn’t healthy to continue doing what they were doing.

He pulled her face close to the front of his shorts, but kept her head tipped back so she had to look up at him.