Edging Obsession

18

Y eah, I knew the sex building would flip Elise and Elliott out. Too bad. This is my home, and they’ll have to deal with it. I walked up the road to hide the smile after I saw their facial expressions as they sucked in air to tame the shock. Just thinking about it, my grin spreads. They’ll loosen up while they’re here.

My steps slow as I’m heading to Johann’s house. It’s been five years since I’ve seen him, and I miss my big brother. He watched over me when my father couldn’t bother. My dad, a ruthless narcissist, exploited us as children, having us steal to see how well we did, and when we failed, he beat us and withheld food. I often wonder if our lives would be different if my mom hadn’t run off to the U.S. to become an actress. We haven’t seen her on the big screen, not that we’d recognize her, aside from the name. I’m guessing she failed. One thing’s for sure, she failed at motherhood.

Bruno, an old childhood friend, comes jogging over and tackles me. We pretend wrestle, and when we’re sitting on the ground, leaves stuck to us, we speak German.

He says, “Look at you, Mr. Rockstar. Took you long enough to come back. The parties aren’t the same without you.”

I shove his shoulder. “I’ve been busy. Besides, no more parties for me unless my woman is interested.”

His brows lift. “Your woman? Did you find yourself an American wife?”

“We’re not married…yet. My submissive woman.”

“Damn! I assumed American women were sexually repressed.”

“Not Jules.”

We clasp forearms and pull into a standing position. My hands slide into my pockets as we near Johann’s house.

“Did Johann tell you the Turkish clan is moving in on our territory?” I nod. “I hate those smug bastards. Maybe it’s time we teach them a lesson.”

I smile with a sideways glance, clap him on the shoulder, and say, “We’ll see.”

We stop in front of Johann’s house. My eyes browse the exterior in search of change, but I notice nothing out of the ordinary. Bruno says tschüss and takes off.

For some reason, I’m nervous so I plant myself in front of the house, glancing at it. It seems longer than five years since I’ve been gone. I’m not the same brother Johann remembers, and my guess is he isn’t either. My eyes roam the area, recalling the good times we had, except back then, this was the only house on the property. Our dad built it as he consumed money in the Brudershaft mob. When he was dying, Johann took it over, and him and I built this empire the way it stands today. But in our younger days, the forest and garden became our refuge from the inner workings of the mob and Dad’s wrath. We slayed dragons in the forest using sticks. Built a fort from broken branches and garbage found in the woods, which infuriated our nanny Ines when we came through the kitchen covered in mud. The recollection has me smiling and I fall back a step when the door opens.

In German, my brother asks, “Well, are you going to just stand there?”

My eyes meet Johann’s, and in two steps, we embrace. There’s a slight shudder running through both of us—latent emotions surging forward. We smack each other on the back, rest an arm over our shoulders, and enter. Johann did a complete overhaul of the house after our dad died. Gone are the heavy wood furnishings and doily curtains, replaced by modern couches, tables, high-end appliances, and fireplace cleanup. It’s lighter, both in color and light. We’re both at a loss for words, sizing up each other’s appearances. He’s aged a bit but not much. Aside from the gray streaks in his light brown hair he inherited from our mother, and a few wrinkles from the corner of his blue eyes, Johann looks the same.

I’m in Germany, so German is the language I speak with everyone here.

While we’re checking each other out, Johann’s wife Anna comes around the corner, pressing her hand to her chest and saying, “Matthias.” She hugs me and then puts me at arm’s length. “My God, you get better looking as time goes by.” Johann clears his throat, and she hurries to add, “Next to your brother.”

She hooks an arm through Johann’s and my arms, leading us into the kitchen. The place doesn’t hold a shred of evidence of my childhood. Gone is the closed-off kitchen, smelling of cabbage and schnitzels, which was a favorite of my father’s, replaced with an open concept, and smelling of scented candles. The heavy, dreariness that hung throughout the house has been replaced with a spacious atmosphere.

A plate of cheese and types of salami sits on the table, along with cut up fruit. On the other side of the table is a Hochstuhl , tucked between two chairs. I cut my attention from it and take a seat next to Johann.

“I forgot. You haven’t met your little nephew yet.”

“No. Not until now.”

“Anna, where is Elias?”

“Napping. I’ll be waking him up in an hour.”

I cut in. “Don’t wake him on my account. I will be gone soon to get some sleep.”

She places her hand on the back of my chair. “Will you come to dinner tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll bring everyone.” They both appear confused, so I fill them in. “Jules and her parents.”

Johann slaps the table and laughs. “Her parents?” He shakes his head. “Are you in love? Or is she impressed with your dick.”

Anna scolds him. “Johann. Don’t talk like that.”

His hand waves her away. “Go check on Elias. Leave us to talk.”

She’s about to leave, but he grabs her sweater, pulling her back into a kiss. When done, he smacks her ass, and she disappears.

Johann leans his forearms on the table. “I haven’t heard you mention a woman’s name since Karina.”

My hands shove inside my jacket pocket. “We’re not talking about her.”

Johann holds his hands up. “Sorry.” He sits back. “Let’s talk clans. There’s a large Turkish clan invading our territory. They recruit young kids, so they’re growing. I sent a message to the leader, wanting to set up a meeting to discuss their infringement on our territory. It seems one of the higher ups went to school with you and will only meet if you’re there.”

“What’s his name?”

“Enes Osman.”

I whisper it a few times, thinking back to my school years, except my school had as many Turkish kids as it did German.

Shrugging, I say, “It’s a typical Turkish name. I can’t recall ever getting in a fight with an Enes.”

My brother laughs. “That’s because you were involved in more fights than you can count.” He jokingly smacks my chest. “Anyways, I need you at the meeting.”

“Set it up, but not during one of our concerts.”

Mine and Johann’s conversation flows into other subjects, such as childhood. We bring up the fights we got into, pranks, our parents, and finally, our current lives. He has a good, healthy marriage with Anna, and I’m looking forward to meeting my nephew, Elias.

Two hours later, I’m home and find Jules asleep by the fireplace. She stirs when I approach, batting her eyes into focus, and lifting herself into a seated position.

She covers her shoulders with the blanket. “How did everything go with your brother?”

“Good. I’m heading upstairs to bed. Come join me.”

Jules shakes her head. “No, I’m fine here.”

Her eyes are red, and her face is blotchy, which tells me she’s been crying. I’m exhausted, ready for bed, but if I ask what’s wrong, I won’t sleep. Instead of asking or arguing, I nod, go to my bedroom, strip off my clothes, shower, and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I’m woken by my phone ringing. Fishing around the side table, I grab it and slip it under the pillow where my head is, and answer.

“Matthias.” I groan a yes. “Anna forgot to tell you dinner is at seven. Can you still make it?”

I confirm, and we hang up. Downstairs, Jules is cuddled into the crook of the couch, wrapped in the blanket and staring at the fireplace. When I walk to the coffee maker, her reddened eyes meet mine.

“My brother and sister-in-law invited us all over to dinner at seven. Let your parents know.”

Seconds later, I hear her talking to her parents. I pour a cup of coffee, place it on the table as she hangs up, and ask if she wants one. She does, so I bring over another, sit next to her, and rub my face. I’m still not fully awake. My hand rests on Jules’ thigh, except she doesn’t place hers on top. Her arms hug her body, leaning away from me.

Fuck!

I’m not ready for shit right now.

Without thinking too much, I ask, “What’s wrong, Jules?” She shakes her head, so I grab her shoulder, pulling her halfway on my lap to face me. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Jules. Something’s wrong, so just tell me.” Her body wiggles to break free, but my arms are a vice grip. “Stop.” Jules’ red, sad, magnetic face is an inch away. Her eyes flit from mine to my lips and back. I give her a small squeeze. “Tell me.”

Those all-consuming forest color eyes shift away when she licks those tantalizing lips. Her voice is proof she’s been crying for hours.

“I’ve been thinking about…that building.” My eyebrow ticks upward. “The one where people have group sex.” I remain quiet. Her fingers trace my Adam’s apple. “And I was wondering…”

“If I’ve ever participated.”

Her eyes edge upwards, locking on mine. “Yes.”

She bites her lower lip, waiting. I know she’s going to spiral this into something bigger than it is. Sex. Group sex. It isn’t a big deal. There are plenty of swinger places in the area. Except Jules’ thoughts tend to absorb and playout scenes that will only cause her harm. They’ll bleed her mind and heart into despondency, and I can’t have that now. She’s to meet my brother and sister-in-law, yet we’ve never lied to each other. It’s been pure honesty, good or bad, so I stick to honesty and tell her.

“Yes, I’ve participated.” She sucks in a breath. “Like you, I’ve had other sexual partners, too.”

I change her position, freeing one arm, so I can play with her pussy. To bring sensations to the forefront and diminish the conversation.

“Why?”

Pressing her back into my chest, my hand slips into her jeans, and I slide a finger along her swollen wetness. She moans and my finger dips inside, wiggling and curling upward.

Her legs push at the table, and she says, “No. We need to talk.”

I pull my hand out, mouth near her ear, and whisper, “Then talk.”

She whimpers. “You know I can’t think when you’re touching me.”

“I’ve stopped, so talk.”

Sliding onto the couch, she hauls the blanket over her front. “Why did you have group sex?”

“Jules.” I stand, my cock pushing my boxer-briefs forward. “What’s the point of this conversation?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

I throw my hands up. “Good. I’m going to clean up again.”

In the shower, I brace a hand against the stone tiles and stroke my cock long and slow. The cascading water above my head drowns out the noises I’m making. My pelvis works in collaboration with my hand, both forging ahead and retreating at the same time. Soon, I have other hands on me. Jules. On her knees behind me. She spreads my ass cheeks and licks my asshole.

Christ!

My body shudders from the way the tip of her tongue circles my asshole, dunks inside, repeating the motion. I can’t concentrate. Both of my hands flatten on the wall, back arching as Jules widens my stance. She gathers my balls in her mouth, and instead of her tongue, she pushes a finger knuckle-deep into my ass.

Fuck, yes!

My orgasm builds, so I assist by fucking my hand while Jules focuses on my ass. It isn’t long before cum shoots onto the stone, sliding down into the grooves. This only gets me hornier. I position Jules in the corner, lift her leg until she’s doing the splits standing, and thrust hard inside her. She gasps, breasts bouncing while I drive inside her at a fast speed. She tells me how much she loves me. My bruising grip on her hip and thigh allows for a steadier thrust. I’m unrelenting. Her finger rubs her clit until she comes on my cock before I empty myself out in her.

Jules begins to cry, and I release her leg, pulling her into my arms. “Miles. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry for asking you about—”

My arms snuggle her closer, kissing the side of her head, and I say, “It’s okay, Jules. We’ll forget about it. I’m not leaving you.”

I rock her in my arms for a couple of minutes, and then we finish with our shower. In the bedroom, we wrap ourselves together, letting the silence calm us. We have an hour before we need to be at Johann’s house.