JustThisOnce

L.E.
Chamberlin

Sara and her husband Jason are more like roommates than
lovers these days. So when the couple attends their friend’s wedding, Sara
dresses to attract some male attention and show Jason the heat he’s missing.
When Sara catches the eye of a sexy young law student, Jason suggests that his
deepest desire—watching Sara with another man—might be just what the couple
needs to reignite the blaze between them. But what Jason doesn’t know is that
Sara has a secret fantasy of her own. She’s determined to save her marriage but
will just one steamy three-way romp be enough?

A
Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

“Sometimes I think of you like a sister,” he blurted, his
eyes straight ahead of him, gripping the wheel.

Care to quantify that?
I thought but my initial
indignant attitude gave way almost instantly to misery. I could feel my neck
and ears getting hot and my stomach beginning that slow roiling. These days
Jason’s every word elicited a hair-trigger response in my body and not the sexy
kind I used to experience. I held my breath and waited for the words he couldn’t
seem to stutter out. At that moment my husband seemed like a stranger to me.
And as shocked as I was about him making such a statement, I knew exactly what
he meant. Our marriage had hit a brick wall.

After eleven years together and two beautiful children the
passion we’d once shared for one another seemed like a distant memory. In its
place were drudgery, resentment and irritation. Most nights I fell asleep with
our younger daughter when I put her to bed and he stayed up late working in the
garage. If we both still managed to be awake in the evenings there were bills
to sort out or decisions to be made. After a long day at work, time with our
children and the business of our marriage, we usually tumbled into bed grumpy
and exhausted and turned our backs to one another. It had gotten so that I
couldn’t even miss the Jason who couldn’t wait to ravage me, I couldn’t even
miss the self who was desperately horny for her husband, because I barely
remembered those people. These days the thought of making love to him was
wearying at best. And by the way he carefully avoided touching me and averted
his eyes from me during those few occasions he saw me getting undressed, I
guessed he was feeling about the same.

I had brought it up in an attempt to figure out my own next
move. I was tired of acting like roommates, tired of the way we stepped
politely around one another in our marriage. I’d intended to save this talk for
a big sit-down the following weekend when my mom had the girls but I saw my
opportunity and I took it. We’d been in the car ten minutes with thirty to go
and I was already at my limit with the small talk. It was insane to me that we
should be talking about the weather while our marriage died a slow death in the
car between us.

So I asked. I took a deep breath and said in as neutral a
voice as possible, “Jason, what do you think about our marriage right now?” He
had stammered and hemmed and hawed but finally… Finally he was honest.

His honesty was like a kick in the chest.
A sister?
For the first few seconds I was furious. I fought the urge to grab the wheel
and run us both off the road so I could claw his eyes out in the ditch. There
was no way to measure the amount of anger I felt. It bubbled up in me like lava
and I threatened to spew it forth. I was resentful of his words, of the
implications, of the way our lives—our best-laid plans, started as naive
college sweethearts—had turned into this yoke of soulless monotony.

“I—” He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles
turned white. “Maybe that didn’t come out right. I guess what I mean is that I
feel like our relationship has changed. That we’re not so much husband and wife
as…as…”

“Siblings?” My fury had felt so huge within me but my voice
came out thin and anxious over the quiet hum of the engine. It wasn’t a battle
and I knew it wasn’t but somehow I felt I was surrendering. I was surprised at
how much his words had suddenly wounded me, when I had felt so numb for so
long. Maybe that pain was a good thing but at the moment it just hurt.

“Well… No, not exactly. But, I mean, it’s been pretty
platonic between us lately…” Now it was his turn to flush. He kept his eyes
straight ahead on the road, not daring to look at me. I watched his jaw working
and I realized this was the moment. We’d been warned, long ago when we were
cocky enough to believe it wouldn’t happen to us, that we would have a crisis
of faith. We were told we’d hit a point in our marriage where we needed each
other more than ever and had less than ever to give. And this was it. I
couldn’t fix it and I needed him to fix it but he didn’t know how either. We
were stuck.

I sighed. “And I suppose that’s my fault, right? Because I
sleep with the girls? Natalie likes me to read to her, and I’m just so tired at
night.” I was suddenly defensive and tearful. “You spend all your time in the
garage, anyway. What difference does it make?” I hadn’t expected my anger to
dissolve so quickly into painful weeping. The truth was, underneath all my
anger I loved my husband. I needed my husband. I felt as if I was
simultaneously disappointing myself, Jason and our marriage. And I knew by the
sadness and confusion in his voice that he felt the same way.

Granted, we’d tried. My mom babysat for us once a month and
in the beginning we always made plans for that weekend, even if it was just to
go to the Best Western across town to be alone. We needed that time away from
the house and our daily pressures, time to reset and get back to what had
brought us together in the first place. And we were great about it at first.
After Emily was born we were packed and ready every Friday morning before we
even left for work. I slipped him naughty notes into his lunch. He called me
and left me steamy voicemail messages that left me breathless with
anticipation. By the time we were on the road we could barely refrain from
stopping at the first dicey roadside motel and ripping one another’s clothes
off.

In those days we planned little trips up the coast, toured
vineyards and made love in the car by the beach. In lumpy hotel beds we woke
each other up just to fuck and feed each other leftover takeout, giggling and
feeling as if we had all the time in the world. When we returned from our trips
the magic spilled over into daily life, the extended buzz lasting nearly until
the next getaway. But then Natalie came and Jason started working more overtime
so we could pay for family vacations and school tuition and safer cars. And I
took a promotion that gave me more duties and earlier mornings. I kicked into
overdrive every afternoon, picking the girls up from aftercare and shuttling
them to swimming lessons and ballet and doing dinner and homework and baths all
before laying eyes on my husband in the evening. Soon our weekends alone became
about getting things done around the house without having to take care of the
kids. But there was no connection, no taking time for us. We were stuck in a
quicksand of our own making.

And it was only by a fluke that we’d come to be in the car
alone, driving to a wedding. We were supposed to be driving with another couple
and I’d been frankly more than a little relieved when Jason offered them a
ride. Another couple gave us the excuse to leave even earlier—because they had
an infant son at home and had only hired the sitter for a few hours. As much as
I loved weddings, I didn’t think I could stand to keep the facade up for so
long. Jason and I hadn’t so much as touched one another by accident in nearly
four months. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d even kissed. Weddings were
so public, and so happy, and I just didn’t think I had it in me. But then the
other couple called to say the baby was running a high fever. We’d headed out
alone and I could feel the anxiety simmering in my chest, a hot rock of angry
worry just burning me up. And then the sister comment.

But I knew what he meant. We weren’t like spouses anymore.

“What can we do?” My voice must have sounded full of despair
because he looked at me then, his brown eyes gentle and sad. And then he
blurred as scalding tears spilled from me. I turned toward the window and
swiped at them, suddenly embarrassed by my vulnerability.

“Hey… Don’t… I love you, Sara, I do.”

I just shook my head, my eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking
between my lashes. It wasn’t going as planned. Not at all as planned.

I felt him take my hand in his and squeeze it. When I turned
to look at him he gave me a crooked smile and pressed my fingers to his lips.
“I don’t know what we can do. But we have to do something. Okay? We’ll do
something. Whatever it takes.” And he tucked my hand up inside his jacket, over
his heart, and held it there for the next twenty miles to the church. I felt
his warmth, the solidity of his chest, that familiar thumping of his heart, and
I ached for what we had lost and couldn’t seem to get back.

Jenny and Christopher’s wedding was a massive affair. Both
sides of both families were huge, so distant cousins and friends of friends had
all been invited. We rolled into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s and through a
sea of well-dressed groups, all squealing and clutching on to one another,
since some of them hadn’t seen each other since the last big family affair. As
a college roommate of the bride I was thankful for the number of relatives
because it meant I was off the hook as a bridesmaid. They had a wedding party
of twenty and it was an overwhelming concept to us. Jason and I had only
invited a hundred guests to our own wedding. This wedding was reported to have
nearly five hundred, and as I looked at the throngs I wondered how Jenny and
Chris would even get to say hello to all these people let alone interact with
them in any meaningful way. Jason and I exchanged glances as we got out of the
car. I was surprised, too, when he took my hand again, though I figured he
didn’t want us to appear unhappy in front of other people.

The ceremony was surprisingly intimate despite the massive
audience, and perhaps since I was especially sensitive from the car ride over I
misted up right along with every other woman there. Try as I did to remain
composed, I had always been a terrible sap for weddings, so by the time Jenny’s
father lifted her veil from her beaming face I was doomed. It was especially
difficult to sit next to my husband—with whom I had made the same joyful vows
only ten years earlier—and acknowledge that we had failed to live up to our
promises. But because he knew how weepy weddings made me, Jason kept his hand on
my knee and automatically handed me his handkerchief as soon as the music
began. I was grateful for his remembering and even more grateful for the warmth
of his hand on me. It was an unexpected comfort.

It was even more unexpected that he kept looking over at me
in a way he hadn’t done in ages. A couple times I even caught him peeking at my
cleavage. And once I met his eyes and he looked…hungry. It was surprising and
exciting and the only thing I could chalk it up to was the dress.

It was a great dress, a blue stretch satin sheath that clung
to my curves but still managed to look classy. I hadn’t thought for a second my
husband would even notice it. Jason seemed so disinterested all the times I
walked around in the nude that I hardly thought a dress would turn his head.
No, I’d been hoping for a response from some of the younger men. I was a bit
more lushly padded than I was in my twenties but I still looked pretty good for
thirty-six, and weddings—particularly this one—were full of young, virile men
looking to score with single bridesmaids and lusty cougars. Though I was
technically neither, I hoped I might at least attract the attention of one of
the young guys and flirt with him a bit that night, perhaps regain some of my
lost confidence. I had no real intentions of doing anything but I thought it
would be a tremendous ego boost to attract the attention of another man.

And I wasn’t acting out against my husband—technically I was
doing exactly what he wanted me to do. When we first started dating he’d confessed
to me shyly one night that his biggest fantasy was to watch me with another
guy. He wanted to watch the whole thing—the pickup, the foreplay, the sex. For
some reason he was obsessed with the idea. Where other guys I’d dated were
annoyingly possessive, Jason loved to see other men showing interest in me. It
was the only fantasy we’d never indulged in all our years together.

The first time he mentioned it I’d thought it was outrageous
but over the years we’d incorporated that taboo desire into some pretty steamy
sex, usually after we’d both been drinking and felt free enough to discuss it.
It was guaranteed to drive him wild if I started whispering in his ear about
him watching me with someone else. I would ask him to tell me what he’d like to
see me doing with the other man and what he’d like to see the other guy doing
to me, and Jason could barely control himself as he described his explicit
fantasies to me. Our game had led to a secret fantasy of my own—being taken by
two men. These days, with no sex between us, there were nights my husband lay
snoring beside me and I thought of what it might be like to have a strong young
guy pumping me while my husband looked on, filled with lust. In my fantasies I
was voracious, having first the young stud and then both men at once. I’d never
dared to consider really doing it and I hadn’t even told Jason about it but the
thought of being pleasured by two men at once got my blood boiling every time.

It was an unexpected bonus to have my husband looking at me
appraisingly. I caught him once and gave him a little smile, cutting my eyes at
him in the way that used to drive him crazy. And I saw, for the first time in
forever…something. Some spark. Something that told me that the horny,
I-don’t-give-a-fuck Jason (who had once brought me to not one but two screaming
orgasms on the diving board of his family’s pool during his father’s retirement
party, while I was pregnant with Emily no less) was still there.

That was how he had looked at me, before. Before it had all
gone cold we’d had passion and a deep connection and we were each other’s best
friend. It had hurt so much to lose it, so to see that spark in him again—to
have his undivided attention and feel him respond to my flirtation—elicited a
powerful reaction from both my brain and my body. When I felt his fingertips
trail along the hem of my dress I nearly gasped aloud. I hadn’t been touched in
so long, and his teasing fingers just stroked softly against my thigh, almost
casually. I felt myself heating up, a flush rising in my cheeks, an instant
dampness spreading between my thighs and soaking my panties. I bit my lip and
tried not to look at him as his fingers brushed back and forth, back and forth,
barely under the hem.

When everyone got up to file into the receiving line I
covered his hand with mine, holding it firmly to my thigh while the
grandmothers and small children passed us by, and we just looked at each other,
a heat building between us. We were nearly the last ones in line because I
didn’t want to break the spell. I didn’t want to let go of his hand, that
moment, that fragment of intimacy.

* * * * *

The country club where the reception was to be held was just
around the corner, and by the time we all fought through the bottleneck out of
the church parking lot it was nearly starting. I went straight to the bar for
my glass of chardonnay and Jason’s bourbon while he said hello to some former
coworker of his who he’d seen in the hallway. I managed to slide into the line
with only one other person ahead of me.

“Surely you’re not planning to chase your wine with that
fine bourbon,” drawled a voice from just over my shoulder, just as I had put
the glass to my lips. I turned and found myself face-to-face with a younger man
I’d never seen before. Without waiting for me to reply he continued, “Where I
come from that’s considered a crime.”

“Oh? And where is that?” I responded, sipping my wine and
drinking him in at the same time, his broad shoulders and bright grin. He
looked like old money—an expensive suit and watch worn with too little care,
the telltale air of confidence that all rich, pretty young men had. And was he
ever pretty—dark hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, a great body obvious through
the perfect drape of the suit. He oozed charm. A prep school prince, I thought,
and briefly wondered what he’d named his sailboat.

“Well, right here, technically. Though at the moment I’m in
law school. Tulane.” He, too, had ordered bourbon and took it, sliding a tip
across the bar without his eyes leaving mine. He grinned at me again, an
all-American boy in his prime, and I was shocked to pick up the signal that he
was flirting with me.

My pulse quickened a little and I didn’t move away as he
leaned a bit closer. I could smell him, expensive cologne with earthy notes.
“Law school! Good for you. And what are your plans after law school? Will you
be back in the area?”

He grinned. “Haven’t thought that far ahead. In fact, I try
to make it a practice not to think that far ahead unless I have to.”

“I see.” I couldn’t help but smile at him, this cocky kid,
twenty-five if he was a day. He was cute, that was for sure, and in my single
days he would have broken my heart. Or maybe I would have broken his. But now I
was a wife and mother, far too old for games with good-looking rich boys. “You’ll
have to excuse me. I have to bring this to my husband.”

“And here I thought maybe you had bought that for me,” he
teased, his voice lower, his smile private and unmistakably inviting. My entire
being responded. I felt pulled to his lean length, bewitched by his scent and
his smile and the promise in those blue eyes.
Stop it,
I thought.
This
is your body talking. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, proud of myself for
playing it cool. “How would I have known to buy this for you? I don’t even know
you.”

“I’m Andrew Morrison, first cousin of the groom, and I’d
shake your hand but it’s holding some other guy’s drink.” His azure eyes
twinkled. To be that young and cocksure again, I thought.

I giggled again. I had to hand it to him, the kid was on his
game. “I’m Sara Ellis, college roommate of the bride. And yes, this drink is
for my husband, Jason, who’s standing right over there,” I motioned to Jason,
who was watching us with an amused smile on his face, “and probably very
thirsty. So I’m going to go. But it was wonderful meeting you, Andrew
Morrison.” I flashed him another quick smile and turned on my heel. I could
feel him watching me as I walked away and I put an extra little swing in my
hips as I brought Jason his bourbon. The thrill of being watched by both the
man behind me and the man in front of me was electric. My skin prickled and my
nipples hardened as the satin rasped against them with every step.

To my surprise, when I arrived with his drink, Jason took it
from my hand and pulled me in for a kiss, cradling my face in his hands as my
lips opened to his. It had been a long, long time since my husband had grabbed
me with such urgency and I melted as he kissed me deeper, his tongue pushing
into my mouth. I sighed against him, every nerve ending come alive at his
familiar touch. My need was so great and he was so delicious to touch again
that when we parted for decency’s sake I was still wrapped up in him, aching
for more.

“You know that kid wants you, right?” he whispered, nuzzling
in my hair, his breath hot in my ear. “And how could he help himself? I watched
you walking back to me and I could hardly stop myself from dragging you off
this dance floor and out to the golf course. I wanted to peel you out of that
dress and fuck you senseless, and I’m not the only one, from the looks of it.”

“What makes you so sure he wants me?” I said coyly, casting
another look back at Andrew, who leaned against one of the tables, his long
frame stretched even longer, watching us while he pretended to be interested in
what the girl next to him was saying. “Maybe he was just being friendly.”

Jason chuckled. “I saw his face. He wasn’t being friendly. A
guy knows these things. And you know how hot that makes me.”

I looked at him in surprise. His eyes were dark with lust
and he hadn’t yet touched his bourbon. I could feel his erection through his
pants. The surprise of his touch and the adrenaline of Andrew’s flirting and
the sips of wine I’d had on a virtually empty stomach conspired to make me
lightheaded and damp between my thighs.

With Jason’s cock pressing insistently against me I looked
over at Andrew again. His eyes met mine and I knew Jason was right. The way he
kept looking at me—it was more than friendly, more than curious. There was
blazing lust in those eyes and it wasn’t for the young blonde beside him. He
wanted
me
.

Jason murmured into my ear, his arm wrapped around me. “Does
it excite you to have two men wanting you at the same time?”

I nodded speechlessly, watching Andrew watching me, my
breath coming faster as Jason nibbled my ear and continued. “I’d love to see
him watch you undress, getting hard just watching you unzip your dress. I’d
love to see the look in his eyes when he sees you naked for the first time.”
His lips grazed my ear, setting off little sparks on my skin.

“Tell me what else,” I breathed. It was the first time we’d
played this game in public but I was wet and burning and well past caring.
Jason’s fingers wrapped tightly around my arms and he spoke again, his voice
thick with desire.

“I want to see you walk toward him, the way you walk to me.
I want to see you get on your knees and let him feed you his cock. I want to
see the excitement in your eyes when he unzips his pants and takes it out for
you. I bet he’s got a big, thick cock… And you like that, don’t you?”

I nodded again, speculating what Andrew must look like
naked, all lean muscles and tanned skin. I wondered if he was big or thick…what
his hands would feel like on me, what it would be like to look up at that
gorgeous face and feel him slide his dick into my mouth. I lost myself in a
reverie of desire in which my husband watched Andrew…

“—choke you with it, and then put you on all fours and fuck
you,” Jason was whispering from behind me. “What do you think? Could you handle
that young stud?”

My heart pounded and I heard a voice that wasn’t my own say,
“Could he handle me? That’s the real question.”

He chuckled and ground against me. “That’s my girl. He’d be
lucky to spend five minutes in that sweet cunt of yours before he came, which
is too bad, because I’d really like to see him give you a good, long pounding,
watch you taking every stroke and loving it.”

“And what would you be doing while you watched us?” I
teased. This was the part he loved best, telling me what he would see and do
while watching.