SUMMER SWAP 2 // Chapter 3

Sullivan watched his wife slip into the pool, in obvious pursuit of Philippe. He groaned and clenched a fist over his diaphragm.

Byron said, “She’s totally playing you.”

Sullivan tore his eyes away from the pool, turned and put his elbows on the railing, looking beyond the yacht’s stern, out at the turquoise sea and the hazy tropical horizon. His cock was as hard as an iron bar and the ache was as bad as when he first discovered that his little thing could get hard, all the way back fifteen years ago.

“Holy shit,” he said, wringing his hands together.

Byron didn’t turn, still watching what Cheyenne and Scarlett and Philippe were up to.

Though Sullivan had looked away, what was happening behind him never left his thoughts—he whipped around again, hand-heeling down his northward pointing erection. He tried to push it between his legs, but it wouldn’t go. It was too stiff and unforgiving. He gave up. “This is so freaking crazy,” he muttered.

“Now you know how I feel,” Byron murmured.

Sully said, “Yeah, but you got to titty-fuck Carla.”

Byron grumbled, shifted hips. His little bean was hard as a rock, too—both their wives driving them wild like horny high-schoolers.

Byron said, “You should get her back.”

“Get who back—Scarlet?”

“She’s either messing with you or about to have an affair right under your nose.”

Sully grumbled again. “She thinks she’s so slick and smart.”

“She knows where all your buttons are.”

“I’m not a hard instrument to play.”

Byron looked down at his erection—not long enough to be weird—then returned his eyes to Sully’s again, saying, “Playing your piccolo.”

Sully said, “Scarlet knows how to play all my favorite songs,” his voice squeezed tight.

Byron sighed. “Pretty wild, isn’t it?”

Sully looked over at Byron, who, despite having endured all this torment himself already, seemed to be smiling. Didn’t seem at all bothered by Cheyenne’s behavior—though it paled currently compared to Scarlet’s behavior. But the previous night, Cheyenne had gone for the Full Monty with Cody. Then again, Byron got the Full Monty with Carla.

He said to Byron, “I should get her back?”

“Totally. Two can play that game. I can tell you one thing: she will not like it.”

“I’m going to make it so all she can think about is me. She’ll forget all about Philippe and that, that…” He motioned with his hands, showing how big Philippe’s organ was.

“That’s the spirit,” Byron said.

Scarlet’s head bobbed up at the far end of the pool, very close to Philippe. Both of them all smiles and white teeth. Talking low and laughing. Bodies naked and way too close together.

Why the fuck was he thinking like this? He wasn’t supposed to like this. He was supposed to be angry—well, shit, he was fucking angry. What was unexpected was a very real bodily reaction. A positive one. His veins stood out on his arms, even down in his pelvis. His heart thundered in his ears. His dick was the hardest it could be. Nobody had touched it, nobody had said to him they were going to touch it, no one around here was about to dip into a bedroom with him . . .

But now his eyes settled on Cheyenne instead of Scarlet.

Exactly.

Two can play that game.

Byron said Cheyenne wanted him to watch her. He could show Cheyenne a thing or two. Maybe Scarlett should find out about that. He wondered if Chey had broached the subject with Scarlet yet. How would that go?

Shit—maybe that’s why Scarlet was being such a tease. Flirting with Philippe right under his nose. Chey asked Scarlet if she could sleep with Sullivan so Byron could watch, and Scarlet took it a bad way. Didn’t like it. Now Scarlet was pretending to be all over Philippe so she could manipulate her husband. Get control of him.

Or, shoot, how about this: maybe Scarlet was into it? This was her saying she wanted to sleep with Philippe if he could sleep with Cheyenne. But the answer was no on Philippe. No way. One night with that guy and his enormous dong, what empty shell of a woman would be returned to him? Could he look his wife in the face, knowing she’d been with that snorting, hairy, barnyard-hung bull of a man?

Scarlet had been with other men. He knew that . . .

No, Philippe was out of the question.

It was Byron or no one. Though he wasn’t keen on that either.

Then again, they could do a nice and easy wife swap. Cheyenne and Byron, Scarlet and good old Sully. No offense to Byron, but he wasn’t packing a python. It wasn’t much longer than Sully’s, but he knew he had some good girth. Byron could sleep with Scarlet and she wouldn’t be returned to her husband with a sagging wizard’s sleeve that he would never hope to fill again. And boy, he wasn’t hung like Cody, but he bet he could rock Cheyenne’s world.

Cheyenne was beautiful. Look at her now, sitting poolside, feet in the water, her sexy back to him, long arms down at her sides, her hands curled over the pool edge. She had long, glossy hair that went almost to her tailbone. And her skin was flawless and tanned. He’d just about popped his cork seeing Scarlet throw a pale, freckled arm around Chey and hug her.

Wow, think about that one, Sully old boy: all four of you in a room together. Cheyenne and Scarlet naked. He licked his lips, thinking about it, folding his arms, his iron cock throbbing with his heartbeat. Yeah, all four of them. Cheyenne and Scarlet touching each other, kissing maybe. Getting themselves horned up for a little husband swap. Byron could watch Sully put his fat bar inside Cheyenne. He’d link his fingers between hers, feel those long legs fold around his back as he drove inside—

He heaved for a sudden breath, bent over with his hands on his knees. A long, unending pulse of pre-come surged from him and fell to the deck. If he wasn’t careful, he could end up slip-and-sliding all the way into the pool.

Byron said, “You all right? This shit getting to you?”

“A bad part of me,” he said, panting, playing it up for comedic effect, “is trying to convince me this is a good thing.”

Byron said, “I’ve been there. Only I had Carla whispering into that bad part of me. Whispering all the things she would do to me. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I can’t even take this anymore,” Sully said, sudden anger riling him. The anger was undirected. Not aimed at Scarlet or Philippe or anyone. Just a surging testosterone wave that made him abrasive and disgruntled.

Yeah, get the upper hand. Give it back to Scarlet. Show her what’s for. Two can play that game.

He left Byron at the railing, walked around the lounge chair toward Cheyenne’s naked back. Pre-come still dribbled, and he didn’t even care if Cheyenne saw. Cheyenne was a swinger now. She was all kinds of dirty. Sweet and innocent Cheyenne had been transformed, and Sully was going to partake.

But as he got closer, he could see into the pool now. Under the water his wife and Philippe were cavorting. Swimming circles around each other, having fun and playing.

Shee-it, did Philippe have a hard-on?

It was hard to tell with the ripples in the water’s surface, but he swore that thing was at attention. It deflated his own balloon.

Cheyenne sensed him standing at her side and looked up. “They’re just playing around,” she said sheepishly, like she expected him to lose his shit and jump in the pool and start a fight with Philippe.

He took a breath, let it out. Took another breath and held it. Slowly, he exhaled out through his nose and calmed himself.

Two can play that game.

He looked back to make sure Byron was watching. Cheyenne wanted Byron to watch her with another man. He nodded to Byron, showing Byron that his friend Sullivan was that man. Sully could manage the responsibility. Like Byron said: commiseration.

Byron looked grim.

Sully set himself down right next to Cheyenne. The two of them naked, hips almost touching. A breath apart. He wondered what it would feel like if their hips were touching. His cock stood blazingly upright between his legs. A shiny trickle slipped from the slit. He wanted Cheyenne to see it. She’d seen it before and said he must be pleased to see her. He was pleased to see her. Cheyenne was pleased to see him.

He leaned his hands behind him and put his weight back, letting his erection sit upright in full view for Cheyenne.

God, and when she looked at it again, he felt his stomach flutter, and more pre-come dribbled. Cheyenne’s eyes flitted toward his, and there was an unreadable expression. She was enlivened somehow, definitely aware that her best friend’s husband was sitting next to her with a very thick hard-on dribbling sexual lubricant. Maybe tonight, they’d all get together and they—

Cheyenne looked away, then looked back, past Sullivan and toward Byron.

That’s it, exchange looks. Let Byron know this is a go. Let Byron know your next partner swap is going to be with me—who obviously has no performance problems. No, quite the opposite.

He would show Cheyenne the time of her—

Cheyenne heaved off the pool lip and slipped into the water, going straight down deep, her feet touching the pool bottom, her body coiling and springing up with the strength of her legs. She emerged on the opposite side of the pool. Scarlet spotted her and thought it was hilarious to have another partner in crime. She shoveled water at Cheyenne’s face, Cheyenne’s cheeks all blushed. Totally turned on, probably. He knew the feeling. In fact, he wasn’t going to make it to tonight. No way, no how. He could feel it happening. Changes in his body. Chambers opening, vessels contracting, vesicles inflating.

He was going to come. Right in front of everybody.

Watching his wife play around and tease him, messing around with naked Philippe, seeing Byron naked and aroused, telling him Cheyenne wanted him to watch her have sex with another man, Cheyenne seeing his boner and saying how he was glad to see her, laughing it off, like she was okay seeing it. Shit, six months ago they had dinner together, all for them, zipped up and wearing button-downs and nice dresses, meeting in the city for a delicious Michelin three-star meal. A little wine, a little whisky. They went for coffee and dessert at Sant Ambroeus later, down in SoHo. They parted ways after, and that was it. No mention of any possibilities of this nature. But look at them now. No clothes, and practically no rules.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He shook his head at Scarlet, who pretended to just notice he was there, giving him a surprised face, like, Oh, hey, honey, when did you get here? He smiled and nodded, showing her his malicious, loving wife that, yes, she’d won. That would make Scarlet very happy. She beamed.

But he would have the last laugh.

He stood now, gave her another nod, got Scarlet to laugh again. Then he left. Didn’t even look Byron’s way.

Once he was out of their view, he was quick stepping into the yacht’s air-conditioned interior, totally naked, cock bouncing.

Which fucking floor was he on?

Shit, he had to take the stairs.

He gripped the end of his dick, not wanting to leave a silvery trail of arousal from the pool to his suite—but the way he was pulsing got his grip slipping wild tickles on the end of his throbbing cock.

Then he was bounding down the hall, jerking himself, spilling his seed as he thought about what might happen tonight. Thought about getting naked with Cheyenne. Watching Cheyenne’s face as he went inside her while Byron watched . . .

He wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom.

He shouldered open the bathroom door, kneed it shut behind him and twisted the lock. He bowed over the sink, hand shuffling quickly on his cock, picturing himself going inside Cheyenne.

His knees shook.

He thought of Scarlet, too. Scarlett with Byron.

Scarlet tricked into this so he could sleep with Cheyenne . . .

An enormous swirling ball of guilt poisoned his system, and he tried pushing it away. It persisted, and he felt his orgasmic swell abate.

Now he growled in anguish and rolled his sweaty forehead against his sweaty forearm. And he did what he didn’t think he would do: he pictured Scarlet, not with Byron, but with Philippe. And just as he pictured Cheyenne’s face as he entered her, now he pictured Scarlet’s face as Philippe struggled to slide that oversized organ inside his beautiful wife. The discomfort showed on her face, mixed with awful ecstasy, and loving the dark, swirling pleasure of it all, scratching her nails on Philippe’s hairy shoulders, biting his muscular chest, taking inch after monstrous inch, and, oh golly, the cries Scarlet would make as Philippe fucked her.

And that was that. His conscience was clear, and a tidal wave of illicit pleasure slammed through him. He jerked and bucked and leg-wobbled, almost collapsing, pelting the sink and the counter and the cupboards with ropes of his massive explosion.