SUMMER SWAP // Chapter 19

Cheyenne bit hard on her husband’s earlobe to wake him out of his deep and snoring slumber. Then acted like it wasn’t her who’d woken him.

She said, “Oh, you up now, baby?”

Byron rubbed his ear and looked around the room, befuddled. His hair stuck up in spiky clumps and his lips pursed in a blubbery line. His squinted eyes roamed the room, like he wondered where the fuck he was. He asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s past eight,” she told him, but when he nodded and thumped his head back down on the pillow, she pulled on his shoulder to turn him to face her.

He squinted at her, saying, “Huh?”

She patted his cheek. “It’s time to get up.”

“We’re on vacation,” he said.

She instructed Byron to sit up. He rolled his head around, stretching his neck, sitting up in lumbering heaves. She said, “You never told me how it was with— You know.”

“Carla?” He blinked and sighed, looking around their room. “Nowhere near what it was like for you and Cody, apparently.”

She grimaced. “Well, what did you guys do?”

“We had sex,” he said, “then we watched Friends and waited for you to let Cody out of here.”

“What does that mean—‘Let Cody out of here?’”

“I don’t know, Chey. It was supposed to be like an hour and you had him in here for two.”

“We were doing what we were supposed to be doing,” she said in a hushed tone, like no one should overhear them even though they were the only two in the room.

“Great. I’m glad. I really am,” he said, and yawned. “Carla and I had sex one time.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, studying her husband for signs of deception. “Was it good?”

“Sure it was. I was nervous, though.”

“I was nervous, too.”

“You got over it pretty fast,” he said.

“Why are you attacking me?” she said. This was supposed to be his interrogation, not hers. She’d been too out of it last night to get into this, but since she woke up—like two hours ago—it was all she could think of. Her sweet husband had slept with that practical porn star Carla. The things Cody had done to her last night were learned in Carla’s bed, Cheyenne was sure, and she hated thinking of Byron engaged in crazy and dirty sex that way.

“I’m not attacking you, baby,” he said and smiled warmly. He touched her arm, held it. “You think I’m not stinging, coming back into our room to find you went through a barrel of condoms and went one more time without one? You had sex with Cody for two hours, Chey. When I came in here, you could barely string words together. I’m not attacking you. I’m trying to recover from what we did last night. Both of us.”

“Tell me what you did last night,” she said.

“Now you’re attacking me,” he said, his smile shrinking.

She chewed her cheek again, looking down at the bedsheet space between them. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I just want to know.”

His hand returned to her arm, stroking up and down now. He was smiling again.

She said, “I guess I sound jealous, don’t I?”

“I’m glad you do.”

“You are?”

“I think it might hurt more if you woke up this morning thinking of Cody. The fact you’re jealous and asking me questions means you’re thinking of me.”

She shook her head and looked away from him, feeling embarrassed. Not by what she’d done last night—well, perhaps a little—but because this morning’s provocative line of questioning was coming from that place Byron identified: jealousy. It was shallow and selfish and not what she’d anticipated. Leading up to swapping last night, all she’d considered was whether Byron would go for it. Now it was over, all she considered was should they have done it in the first place. But that was the kind of thing that was more important to consider before engaging in a wanton act, rather than after. “You’ll be happy to hear then that I am very jealous,” she admitted in a timid voice. “Like, almost to the point of blind rage. I’ve got a lid on it because I know it’s not right.”

Byron didn’t answer for a long time and when she regarded him, she saw his expression at the edge of bursting—like he had his own lid to contend with. Only, it didn’t seem like rage that filled Byron to the point of bursting. Judging by his wriggling mouth, it seemed to be glee her husband struggled to contain. She said, “What’s so funny?”

His lips blubbered with an exhaled raspberry. He said, “You.”

She smirked. “What’s so funny about me?”

Byron rubbed his forehead, and now her husband showed a dopy grin. She loved to see it. She rolled her eyes. He was happy she was jealous.

Byron said, “I’m your mate.”

She scoffed. “Whatever.”

“Are you my lioness?”

“I’m not a lioness,” she said, getting mad.

“Are you going to fight with Carla?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He shook his head no, and the glee on his face relaxed to show more compassion. He pulled her into his arms and held her, and she rested her cheek against his collar. It felt good to be back with her husband. After the strangeness—no matter how exciting it was—of sex with another man last night, it felt even better than ever before to have Byron hold her. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d sat together like this, being quiet, breathing, feeling each other’s embrace. Her arms went around him and hugged their embrace tighter. “Let’s be honest with each other,” she whispered.

“Deal,” he said.

“Would you please tell me what you did with Carla.”

“I guess I go first, huh?”

“I already told you, Byron. I was honest with you. Right away, I was honest with you.”

“I know, I’m kidding,” he said. “I want to tell you how it went with Carla because it was just . . . fine.”

“I don’t really believe that, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was Carla.”

Byron chuckled and squeezed her. “What do you think happened?”

“Tell me.”

“It was fine. I went in, she wanted to get right to it—”

She couldn’t help bristling with anger.

“She’s intimidating. You know she is.”

“Yeah. So then?”

Byron’s eyebrows raised. He shrugged, and his reluctance bothered her.

She said, “I know you liked her tits. You played with them, right?”

“I mean, yeah,” he said, sheepishly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

Fucking Carla. “Did you kiss her?”

He nodded and her stomach turned over, picturing it.

He said, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” she said, hugging him again. “I’m not mad. We wanted to do this thing, and we did it. I have to figure out how I feel, and I know I can’t be a jerk to you about it. I’m not like you: I’m not turned on by thinking of you with Carla.”

“Is it weird that I get crazy about thinking of you with Cody?”

“Or Philippe,” she said and chuckled. Byron flinched, and when he tried to pull away, she hugged him closer. “It’s not weird. It’s not weird at all. Nothing’s weird about us. We were just curious. That’s all.”

Byron breathed heavily, and his weight settled against her like in surrender. He said, “Carla and I had sex twice. But not for a long time.”

She smiled and rubbed his back. Cody didn’t have crazy stamina or anything, but he recovered quickly. She said, “I guess . . . I mean, she probably used her mouth, too?”

“Yeah,” he said, and this time his answer didn’t hurt as bad.

“That’s fine,” she said.

“You wanted to do it with Cody—”

“I know.”

“So, like, did you enjoy it?”

She shrugged now. Answering his questions last night had been easier when she was woozy and sex-drunk. “It was, you know . . . hot.”

“I guess.”

“I did it a couple of times.”

“Like, did it to finish?”

She nodded, her chin digging in his collar, anticipating him flying into a rage or something. Byron accepted her answer.

“That’s great, then,” Byron said. “Well, now we know what it’s like to swap.”

“We were targeted, right?”

“Definitely,” he said.

“I wonder how long they wanted to have sex with us.”

“I’m sure Cody wanted to bang you the first time he met you. Carla had to get to know me for a few years first.”

She laughed, feeling so close and together with this lovely man she married—despite the contrary behavior of the previous night. But Carla had worked Byron into a frenzy, and Cody had done the same to her yesterday. He’d got her so horny, and now, a day later, she felt tricked somehow. Even though she got what she wanted, it all seemed to be for the enjoyment of their predatory friends. Cody and Carla both knew their way around a bedroom. They’d swapped before and were good at it. Cody was pro-level. He’d done crazy things to her. Her butthole, too. And used his tongue, and all different positions. And he got deep. She and Byron were like cat toys for a couple of sex tigers.

She brought her head back and looked in Byron’s eyes, thumbing his ear lobes. He said, “What?”

She hugged him again, avoiding his eyes and saying, “Am I any good in bed? Honestly.”

“According to Cody, you are.”

“Really?” she said—with a little too much joy—and darted back to see if Byron was kidding. “What did he say?”

Her husband showed an expression of disdain that she would be excited by that. He said, “That you can knock boots.”

She cocked her head. “What do you think that means?”

Byron was still bothered, but played along. “Cody put great emphasis on ‘knock.’ He said to Carla, ‘She can knock.’”

She grimaced with the discomfort and the not-knowing of what last night’s sex-partner thought of her. “I guess that’s good.”

Byron said, “I’d take it as a compliment. And yes, I agree with Cody: you can knock boots.”

She laughed. “Would Carla say you were good at knocking boots?”

“She’d say I was good at foot rubs.”

“Ew, you rubbed her feet?”

He frowned. “What?”

“By-ron,” she said, showing him a look of pure disgust.

He broke out laughing and grabbed her wrists. “You gotta be kidding me, Chey.”

She pulled away, but he held her tight and laid her out on her back, straddling her.

“That’s so personal,” she lamented, looking away from his eyes like she was bothered.

He said, “That’s something you thought about, whether you were good in bed?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“You’re the best. The best in bed. The best in everything.”

“Ah, get out of here,” she said, squirming under him.

“I mean it. Cody only got a fraction of how I know you.”

“Oh please. You’re such a sweet talker.”

“You think this is sweet talk?”

“You’re laying it on real thick, Byron.”

“Excuse me for getting mushy about the woman I love.”

This time, she could see a definite sheen to his eyes. They were wet with emotion. Enough she knew not to jibe him this time, to accept his compliments. Because he meant them. “Fine,” she whispered. Then petulantly added: “Don’t expect me to get mushy.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Not my ice princess.”

She gave him a dramatic expression of offense. “I’m mushy for you,” she said, meaning it.

“Mushy, huh? Guess what.”

She already saw where his playing was headed. Her right hand traveled from his back and palmed the crotch of his boxers. His cock was hard as stone. She smiled, but broke the bad news: “No, Byron. It’s enough already. I can’t take it anymore.”