Chapter 26: The Unholy Union
The beignets grew cold on the counter, forgotten. The confession hung in the air between them, a bridge they had crossed without looking back. They didn’t speak much in the car. Matt drove, one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers with a grip that felt both possessive and desperate. The lights of Los Angeles streamed past the windows, a river of neon and headlights.
His apartment was silent and vast when he keyed them in. The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a indifferent panorama of a million other stories. He didn’t turn on the main lights. A single lamp by the grand piano cast a warm, low pool of illumination.
Dee stood in the center of the living room, feeling the strangeness of being here like this. She’d been in this apartment a hundred times—for script read-throughs, for post-premiere parties, for quiet friend-of-a-friend dinners. Now it felt like a foreign country.
Matt came up behind her, not touching, just sharing her space. “Okay?” he murmured into her hair.
She shook her head. “No.” She turned to face him. The lamplight caught the silver in his hair, the uncertain lines around his mouth. “I keep seeing it. I close my eyes and I see you with her. That morning in my studio. The way she looked at me. Smug. Sure of her place. And the worst part is, I’ll never know what actually happened. I only have her word. And yours.”
“You have my word,” he said, his voice rough.
“Words are your trade,” she shot back, the old hurt flaring bright and hot. “You say them for a living. You make people believe them.”
He flinched. She saw the pain lance through him, and a part of her hated herself for wielding it, and another part, a darker, rawer part, reveled in it. The power to hurt him back. After all these years of silent aching.
She stepped closer, until the silk of her gown brushed the wool of his tuxedo trousers. She reached up and slowly, deliberately, began to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt. Her fingers worked calmly, exposing the taut plane of his chest, the line of muscle leading down. He stood perfectly still, watching her face, his breath shallow.
“I will never forget that,” she said softly, her eyes on her work. “That image of you two. It’s burned in my brain. So I have an idea.”
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a whisper. She placed her palms flat on his chest, feeling the rapid, heavy beat of his heart. She looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Call her.”
Matt blinked. “What?”
“Call Elara. Right now. Tell her to come over.”
A mix of confusion and dawning horror crossed his face. “Dee, why would we—“
“Because I said so,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a low, commanding register he had never heard from her before. It thrilled her. “You want to prove something to me? You want to erase that picture in my head? Then we replace it. We use her. That slutty bitch who thought she could wedge herself between us. We use her for my pleasure. She becomes my toy. Our toy. You fuck her because I tell you to. You make her come because I want to watch. And then, when I’m bored of her, you fuck me while she watches. You make her see exactly what she’s not. What she can never have.”
Her words hung in the quiet, luxurious air. They were filthy, brutal, drenched in a jealousy she was finally allowing to breathe. It was ugly. It was real.
Matt’s eyes had darkened, his pupils swallowing the blue. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He wasn’t repulsed. She saw the tension in his body, the way his attention had sharpened to a fine point. On her. Always on her.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice gravel.
“It’s what I need.”
He held her gaze for another long moment, then slowly pulled his phone from his pocket. He never looked away from her as he scrolled, found the contact, and put the phone to his ear.
“Elara. It’s Matt.” His voice was flat, neutral. “Come to my apartment. Now… No, it’s not that. Just come. Dee’s here… She wants you here.”
He listened, his eyes locked on Dee’s. Then he ended the call. “She’s on her way.”
Dee felt a vicious surge of triumph. “Good.”
She let her own dress fall then, a pool of emerald at her feet. She stood before him in just her lace underwear, her body warm in the lamplight. She saw his gaze travel over her—the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips he’d only ever hugged in friendship. His breathing hitched.
“Don’t touch me yet,” she said, and walked towards his bedroom.
She was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in her lingerie, when the intercom buzzed. Matt, now barefoot and wearing only his trousers, went to let her in. Dee heard the elevator, the soft click of the front door, the hesitant footsteps on the hardwood.
Elara appeared in the bedroom doorway. She was dressed casually in jeans and a thin sweater, her face pale and free of makeup, her hair in a messy knot. She looked young. Vulnerable. She glanced from Matt, shirtless and tense, to Dee, perched on the bed like a queen.
“What’s going on?” Elara asked, her voice small.
“You apologized,” Dee said, not moving. “You wanted to make amends. This is how.”
Elara swallowed, understanding dawning slowly, then with a rapid, sickening clarity. Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Take your clothes off,” Dee commanded. “All of them.”
Elara looked at Matt, a silent plea for… what? Intervention? He just stared back, his expression unreadable. After a frozen second, Elara’s shoulders slumped in a strange acquiescence. Her fingers went to the hem of her sweater. She pulled it over her head, then unbuttoned her jeans, letting them fall. Soon, she stood naked in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She was slender, elegant, everything Dee was not.
“Come here,” Dee said.
Elara walked forward on unsteady legs, stopping a few feet from the bed. The air was thick with tension and the faint, expensive scent of Matt’s cologne.
Dee reached out and uncrossed Elara’s arms, letting them fall to her sides. She looked her over, a cold, appraising stare. “On your knees.”
Elara sank to the floor. The submission was complete, and it sent a bolt of pure, dark electricity straight to Dee’s core.
Dee looked at Matt, who was still standing by the door, watching every move with a rapt, feverish intensity. “You see her?” Dee asked. “This is what you almost chose. This is the pale, skinny bitch you let into your bed.”
Dee leaned back on her elbows on the bed, spreading her thighs. The dark lace of her underwear was already damp, a visible patch of deeper shadow. She held Elara’s terrified, fascinated gaze.
“Now lick this pussy, bitch,” Dee said, her voice a low, venomous scrape. “And tell me how much you like it.”
Elara’s eyes flickered for a second, a final shard of pride. Then it extinguished. She shuffled forward on her knees, her movements jerky. She pressed her face against the soaked lace, inhaling shakily. Her tongue traced a hesitant line over the fabric.
“Through the lace doesn’t count,” Dee hissed, grabbing a fistful of Elara’s hair. “Get your mouth on me properly. Show me what you used to try to please him with.”
A choked sob escaped Elara, but she obeyed, hooking her fingers into the sides of Dee’s underwear and pulling them down. Dee’s cunt was exposed, full and glistening in the low light. Elara stared at it, then leaned in, her tongue extending in a slow, flat stroke from perineum to clit.
Dee’s head fell back. A sharp gasp tore from her throat. It was a stranger’s mouth, a woman’s mouth, soft and utterly submissive. The feel of it was wildly, wrongfully good. “Talk,” Dee demanded, her hips rising off the bed. “Tell me.”
“It’s… you taste good,” Elara mumbled against her, the words vibrating through Dee’s flesh. “You taste… strong. Salty.”
“Salty?” Dee laughed, a harsh sound. She looked past Elara’s bobbing head to where Matt stood, rooted, his hand gripping his own cock through his trousers. “You hear that, Matt? She thinks I taste strong. You want a taste? Come here. Taste her holes. Tell me if she tastes good. Tell me if she tastes better than me.”
Matt moved as if pulled by wires. He dropped to his knees beside Elara, his large hands pushing her shoulders down, bending her further over the edge of the bed. He positioned himself behind her, his face level with her spread cunt. He didn’t look at Dee. He looked at the other woman’s body, at the pink, offered flesh.
He leaned in and licked a broad, slow stripe up her slit. Elara moaned, the vibration traveling through her tongue and into Dee. Dee watched, mesmerized, as Matt ate another man’s girlfriend with a focused, clinical intensity. He pushed his tongue inside her, then lapped at her clit. He withdrew, his chin wet.
“Well?” Dee prompted, her own breath coming in short pants. Elara’s mouth was still working on her, a frantic, sucking rhythm now.
“She tastes… clean,” Matt said, his voice thick. He looked up, his blue eyes finding Dee’s. They were dark, clouded with a brutal honesty. “She tastes like nothing, Dee. Like water. You… you taste like everything. You taste like the reason.”
The words landed like a physical blow, rocking through both women. Elara whimpered against Dee’s flesh, a broken sound of comprehension. Dee’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place, a silent command to keep going.
“Like the reason,” Dee repeated, her voice catching. She pulled Elara’s head back by the hair, breaking the contact. Elara’s lips were slick and swollen, her eyes glazed. “Get on the bed. On your back.”
Elara scrambled onto the mattress, her body a pale streak against the dark duvet. Dee stood, shedding her last scraps of lace, then pushed Matt towards the waiting woman. “Show me,” she whispered, the command raw. “Fuck her. And I want to hear it. I want to hear every filthy detail.”
Matt undid his trousers, his cock springing free, thick and already leaking. He positioned himself between Elara’s thighs, not kissing her, not touching her beyond necessity. He guided himself to her entrance, his eyes on Dee, who stood watching like a vengeful priestess. He pushed in with a single, deep thrust. Elara cried out, her back arching.
“Is she tight?” Dee asked, her own fingers trailing down her stomach, circling her clit. “Tighter than you remember?”
“Yes,” Matt gritted out, beginning to move. The slap of skin filled the room, a brutal, rhythmic punctuation.
“Good,” Dee breathed. She climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside Elara’s head. She lowered her cunt onto the other woman’s mouth. “Earn your forgiveness, you vain little cunt. Make me come while he ruins you.”
Elara’s tongue began to work again, frantic now, fueled by a mix of shame and a terrifying, unwilling arousal. Dee rode her face, her gaze locked on where Matt’s body joined with Elara’s. She watched his muscles coil and release, watched the sweat begin to slick his back. A possessive fury twisted inside her, hot and sweet.
“Now tell me, Matty,” Dee panted, her hips grinding down onto Elara’s mouth. “Which of her holes do you like more, while she tongue fucks me?”
He faltered in his rhythm, his eyes squeezing shut for a second as if struck. He opened them, his gaze burning into Dee’s. “This one,” he groaned, driving harder into Elara. “This cunt. It’s empty. It’s nothing. It’s just a warm, wet hole.”
“Do you like licking me, Elara?” Dee demanded, grabbing two fistfuls of the other woman’s hair, controlling the pace of her own pleasure. “Do you like his tongue in your holes? Talk to me.”
Elara’s answer was a muffled, desperate keen against Dee’s flesh. Dee pulled her head back sharply. “Talk!”
“Yes!” Elara sobbed, gasping for air, her mouth shining. “I like it. I like his tongue. I like your taste. God, I’m so fucking sorry, I like it all, I’m a sick—”
Elara’s confession died in a guttural choke as Dee shoved her face back down. “You’re not sick,” Dee hissed, her thighs trembling around Elara’s ears. “You’re just finally useful. Matt.”
He knew what she wanted before she said it. He withdrew from Elara’s cunt with a wet sound, his cock glistening. He moved up her body, his hands rough on her hips, flipping her onto her stomach. He yanked her up onto her knees, her ass presented high in the air, pale and trembling. He looked at Dee, a silent question in the harsh set of his jaw.
“You heard me,” Dee said, her voice scraping like stone. “Lick her ass. Get your tongue in that tight little hole she offered you. And you,” she said, pulling Elara’s head up by the hair so she could see Matt positioning himself behind her. “Describe it. Every fucking thing you feel.”
Matt leaned down, his breath hot against Elara’s skin. He spread her cheeks with his thumbs, exposing her puckered rosette. He didn’t hesitate. He pressed his mouth against it, his tongue firm and flat at first, then pointed, probing.
Elara jolted as if electrocuted. “Oh, God,” she whimpered.
“Talk!” Dee commanded, slapping her ass, the crack sharp in the room.
“It’s… it’s warm. His mouth is so warm.” Elara’s words tumbled out between ragged breaths. “His tongue is… it’s soft but it’s pushing. It’s wet. He’s licking circles. Oh, fuck, he’s pressing inside. Just the tip. It’s… it’s intimate. It’s dirtier than anything. I can feel… I can feel every ridge of his tongue. It’s opening me. I feel exposed. I feel owned.” A sob racked her. “It feels degrading. And I’m so wet for it. My cunt is throbbing and it’s empty and I want it filled but he’s just licking my ass and I want him to never stop.”
Matt drove his tongue deeper, fucking her with it, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Elara’s body convulsed, a low, continuous moan pouring from her.
“Enough,” Dee said, her own need a sharp, screaming wire inside her. She pulled Matt away by his hair. He looked up, his chin slick with saliva. “Now me. Fuck me like you mean it. Like you’re trying to brand me. Elara, get under me. Your mouth goes on my ass now. You don’t stop until I tell you.”
They moved in a frantic, obedient shuffle. Dee got on all fours on the bed, her back to Matt, her head near the headboard. Elara scrambled beneath her, lying on her back, positioning her mouth beneath Dee’s raised rear. Matt knelt behind Dee, his hands running possessively over the curves of her ass, spreading her.
He entered her in one relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Dee screamed, the fullness a shock after the long, torturous wait of years. It was not love-making. It was a claiming. Each punishing drive of his hips slammed her forward, onto Elara’s waiting tongue.
Elara’s tongue found Dee’s other hole, lapping at the tight furl, tasting the mix of sweat and her own saliva from earlier. The dual sensation was unbearable. Matt’s thick cock stretching her cunt, filling her up, and the insistent, wet point of Elara’s tongue circling her ass. Dee’s fists clenched in the duvet, her knuckles white.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” Matt growled, his rhythm brutal and steady. “Is this the show you came to my apartment for, Elara? You see how she takes me? You feel how hot her cunt is around my dick? It’s fucking vise. It’s home.”
“Yes,” Elara moaned against Dee’s flesh, the vibration exquisite. “I see. God, I feel it. I can smell you both.”
Dee’s orgasm built like a storm surge, dark and inevitable. “I’m close,” she warned, the words ripped from her.
“Come for me,” Matt demanded, his pace becoming erratic, savage. “Soak my cock. Let her taste it.”
The command did it. Dee shattered, her body locking around him as wave after wave of brutal pleasure tore through her. She cried out, a raw, broken sound that had nothing to do with performance. Matt followed, a deep, guttural shout tearing from his throat as he pinned her hips and pumped his release deep inside her, his own climax rolling in thick, hot pulses.
They collapsed together, spent, Matt’s weight heavy on her back. He was still inside her, softening. The room stank of sex and salt and conquest.
Dee’s breathing was ragged. She nudged Elara with her knee. “Now. Clean it up. Lick his come out of me. Every drop.”
Elara, her face flushed and tear-streaked, didn’t hesitate. She wriggled out from under Dee and positioned herself between Dee’s thighs. Matt withdrew, his semen already beginning to leak out. Elara pressed her mouth to Dee’s swollen flesh, her tongue lapping up the combined fluids with a desperate, hungry diligence.
Dee watched over her shoulder, a profound exhaustion seeping into her bones. The vengeful fire was guttering out, leaving ashes. Elara’s tongue was gentle now, almost reverent. When she finished, she stayed there, her forehead resting on Dee’s thigh, silently weeping.
Dee pushed herself up. She looked at Matt. His face was a mask of spent passion and dawning regret. The script was over. The performance was done.
“Get up,” Dee said to Elara, her voice quiet, hollow. “On your hands and knees. Head down. Ass up.”
Elara obeyed, her body moving like a marionette with cut strings. She presented herself, the same position Matt had licked her in. Dee looked at Matt. She nodded towards the bedside drawer. He understood. He fetched the bottle of lube, slicking himself again, his cock half-hard from the scene, from the obedience, from the sheer filth of it.
“This is the last part,” Dee said, her hand stroking Elara’s back. Not a caress. A branding. “This is where we use you. All of you. The final apology.”
Matt guided himself to Elara’s ass. He pushed, slowly, relentlessly, past the tight resistance. Elara screamed into the duvet, a muffled, agonized sound of complete surrender. He began to move, setting a deep, measured rhythm, fucking her ass with a terrifying detachment. His eyes were on Dee the whole time.
Dee sat on the edge of the bed and watched. The jealous picture in her mind—of them laughing in this very room—was gone. In its place was this: a broken woman being taken in the most invasive way, a punishment orchestrated by the one she’d wronged. It was not satisfying. It was empty. It was just a body, being used.
When Matt finished, pulling out of Elara with a final, tired grunt, no one spoke. Elara lay collapsed, shaking. Matt stood by the bed, looking lost. Dee walked to the en suite bathroom and turned on the shower, the sound thunderous in the silence.
She did not invite them to join her. She stood under the scalding spray alone, watching the water swirl at her feet, carrying everything away.