Bluebeard (4 page)

“I’m too old for that stuff, I guess.”

No more screaming and thrasher metal music. Now he played more melodic songs. They still had an edge, but it was a deeper edge, more blues than rock, as if whatever knife he’d used to dig that deep had reached a rich, red geyser of real blood this time—no more fake stuff. He could make a guitar sing like no one she had ever heard before.

She turned on the light and went over to the piano, sitting down on the bench, closing her eyes, remembering the feel of him beside her, the motion of his body as he played. As big as he was, he had long fingers, perfect for piano. She’d never learned to play an instrument, and every time she said so, he would offer to teach her. But she would laugh and tell him no, using an American phrase Mrs. Ribya had taught her—old dogs can’t learn new tricks.
You play. Play for me.
And he did.

Petra opened her eyes, looking at the music sitting open. It had Blue’s handwriting scrawled in the margins, lyrics written in under the notes. Glancing at the title at the top of the paper, she gasped:
My Pet.
She read the song, her eyes skimming down the page:

Ever since I saw you walkin , baby

You  been  walkin’ me somehow

I’m growlin’, pantin’, stalkin’, baby

Cause you got me on the prowl

Your love has got me collared

Wonderin’ who’s the master now

It’s such a sweet submission

For your loyal alpha dog

No, I ain’t been runnin’ with the pack

Ever since I got you back

You’re my pet, you’re my pet, you’re my pet

You got this big ol’ dog a-howlin’

You drive me wild as I’m gon’ get

Your love gon’ track me down

Like a hell hound on my trail

My heart is in the doghouse

All I can do is wag my tail

You got me goin’ junkyard wild, baby

Markin’ my territory round your heart

Another dog come snoopin’

Yeah, there’s gonna be a fight

No, I ain’t been runnin’ with the pack

Ever since I got you back

You’re my pet, you’re my pet, you’re my pet

You got this big ol’ dog a-howlin’

You drive me wild as I’m gon’ get

Petra stared at the pages in her hands, her heart pounding in her chest.

This is about me.

It couldn’t be. But it was. Feeling as if she’d been reading someone’s diary, Petra put the music back exactly as it had been, calling Milyi, who was sniffing around one of the drum sets, beckoning him out of the room. She turned off the light and locked the door behind her, leaning against it, thinking about her husband and the song he had written for her.

For her.

She had to pass Blue’s room to get to hers now, and the temptation proved too much. She’d seen his room before, of course, passing it on the way to the music room, but she’d never been inside. Blue’s room was dark and cool and it smelled like him—so familiar to her now. She turned on the light, smiling at the austerity. Her room was light and frills and lace, but his was dark, sleek mahogany and leather upholstery. His bed was a four-poster affair with a dark blue coverlet.

She locked the door behind her with the key, turning to explore the room

She touched his dresser, the surface smooth and dust-free. They had a cleaning crew working in the house every day, doing something—the place was just too big not to have a lot of staff—but she didn’t know any of their names, and while she spoke Russian and broken English, they spoke Spanish and broken English, making the language barrier that much greater. The only staff that stayed overnight were Max and Mrs. Ribya.

Petra wandered over to her husband’s bed, running her hand over the soft material, pulled taut. This was where he slept every night. Did he think about her—as much as she thought about him—alone in the dark? She couldn’t help herself—she climbed up onto the bed and stretched out there, closing her eyes, thinking about him. Where was he now? Waiting at the airport for his flight home?

I miss you, Blue.
She felt like crying.

Milyi whined, scratching at the side of the bed, and Petra reached down to lift him up. He settled in happily, panting near her. The digital clock on the night table read eighty-thirty-nine. On impulse, she leaned over and opened the night table drawer, finding a pair of reading glasses, a book (
The Art of War
), several notebooks and pens, a package of tissues and some ponytail holders. She fingered these last objects, frowning.

Blue’s hair used to be long,
she reminded herself. She tossed them back into the drawer, opening the next one down, finding it filled with DVD cases—
Bravehart, Star Wars, Ronin, Lord of the Rings, Ghost Dog
. The third drawer was filled with DVD cases too, but these were black, with no labels. Petra pulled one out, clicking it open, finding a silver DVD inside with one word written on it in Sharpie:
Madonna.

Now she really was snooping! She felt horribly guilty.
But he’s your husband. And he said you could go anywhere you wanted… well, almost anywhere…

She knew he hadn’t meant for her to do this, of course. But she did it anyway.

Petra slid the DVD into the player on his dresser, which automatically activated the big-screen television, turning it on. The first thing she heard was a long, loud moan, almost a scream, and she scrambled for the universal remote without even looking at the screen, assuming it was just concert footage, turning the volume down and looking behind her toward the locked door. What if Max or Mrs. Ribya or one of the other staff came along and found her in his room?

She went over to the door and listened, making sure there was no one out there. When she turned back toward the television, she gaped at what she saw there. The camera was focused on two women tangled up together on a mattress. She couldn’t see too much of the room around them, just bookcases and a statue of a goddess, something Hindu with a forked tongue, all arms and legs, but it didn’t matter—the whole world was turning on the bed.

A nude, dark haired woman, panting, breasts heaving, hips rocking and rolling, had her legs spread, while a petite blond, her face obscured between the other woman’s legs, gave her what was clearly some very pleasurable oral sex.

“Play with her tits.” The voice from the television made Petra’s knees instantly wobbly. Thankfully the bed was there and she sat on it as she listened to her husband giving the two women clear instructions. “Pinch her nipples. Good girl. Harder.”

The blond did as she was told, making the dark-haired girl squeal and thrash under her attention, clearly very close to orgasm.

“Donna! Don’t you dare come!” Blue ordered. His voice was loud—he was clearly close to the camera. Maybe even behind it. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”

Donna! Short for Madonna?
Now she understood the word written in Sharpie on the DVD.

Petra gasped out loud, her hand going over her mouth, as her husband appeared at the edge of the screen. He was wearing jeans and no shirt, just as broad and built back then—maybe more so—as he was now. It was an old tape, she realized, with relief. His hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail, his beard full. And very blue.

She knew she should turn this off and leave the room immediately, but she couldn’t. She was transfixed by the sight of the little blond sitting up and unzipping her husband’s jeans at his command. The girl leaned up to look in like a kid opening a Christmas present before she pulled his cock free.

"What's your name again?" Blue asked, like that amused him, but he groaned when the blond took him into her mouth.

“Mary,” the blond murmured. “My name is Mary.”

His cock was beautiful. It made Petra’s mouth water. The dark-haired girl—Donna—was crawling toward him now, joining her friend in the licking and sucking of Blue’s cock. Their tongues snaked around the head, slithering down the shaft.

"I’m going to make you come, Mary.” Blue’s hand moved in her hair, pulling her head back so he could see her eyes. There was a glazed look in them and Petra wondered if the woman was drugged. Blue and the band had been heavy into drugs back then—he’d told her so. “Spread your legs.”

The blond did as she was told, stretching out on her back and opening her thighs. Blue opened them further with his hands, kneeling up between her legs.

“Play with her tits,” Blue told Donna. The dark-haired girl stretched out beside her friend, gently fondling and sucking at the blond’s puffy pink nipples, making them instantly hard. “Mmm. Nice.”

It was. Petra felt a deep, aching throb between her own legs as she watched her husband rub the head of his cock over Mary’s mound. It was covered in wiry, curly blond hair, just like her own, and he parted the girl’s flesh slowly, focusing right at the top of her cleft.

“Ohhh!” Mary moaned and rolled her hips up toward his cock. “Yes! Fuck me, Blue! Please!”

“No.” He denied her, teasing. “I told you I was going to make you come. I didn’t say I was going to fuck you.”

The girl cried out in protest, that tenacious rubbing, rubbing going on between her thighs, the head and shaft of his cock plunging between the valley of her pussy lips, not entering her. It made soft, wet noises, and both women on the screen moaned, the dark-haired one licking and sucking Mary’s nipples with more fervor.

“Play with yourself, Donna,” Blue instructed. The woman moaned in relief, shifting her hips so he could see her pussy as she parted her labia, showing him the pink inside. Blue nodded, a smile playing at his lips, and Petra recognized that dark, wolfish look in his eyes.

“Oh me too,” Petra whispered, unable to deny her husband’s command. She unzipped her jeans, sliding a hand into her silk panties. All her underwear was silk—Blue made sure of it. Her pussy was pulsing with heat, soaking wet, her clit so sensitive she cried out when her fingers brushed it.

“Oh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhh!” Mary cried out, reaching blindly for Blue, grabbing his wrist, a look coming over her face that was hard to describe. She was lost in the moment, moaning and wailing and bucking on the bed, and Donna held on to her for dear life, her mouth still sucking and tugging at the little blond’s nipples. Mary was sailing, free, her eyes rolled back, her tongue caressing her lower lip.

"Oh god," she moaned, turning to face her friend. The two women kissed and Blue groaned his approval. “He’s so good!”

“I know,” Donna murmured, doing as Blue told her and climbing on top of her friend, so they were kissing, belly to belly on the mattress, Blue still on his knees behind them. Petra felt her breath coming faster as she nudged her little clit, the blood filling her face, ashamed of how turned on she was watching her husband about to fuck not one, but two, other women.
It was a long time ago,
she reminded herself. And at least, in this moment, she could live vicariously through them both. Because more than anything else, she realized, she wanted to be the woman that Blue was going to fuck.

Her husband was sliding the head of his cock between the soft, wet flesh of Donna’s waiting pussy. She lifted her bottom up and then pushed back, slowly impaling herself on his length. Petra matched her long, low moan, imagining how it would feel, his thick shaft spreading her open.

“Oh Blue!” The woman broke her kiss with Mary to cry out as he began to pound her on the mattress. “Yes! Fuck me!”

Mary whimpered, wiggling under her friend, watching her face, not-so-patiently waiting her turn. She’d already come once, Petra thought, so it was only fair he fucked the other girl first, right?

And what in the hell am I thinking? That’s my husband up there! Fucking two other women!

Somehow it didn’t matter. Petra bit her lip and rubbed herself faster as she watched the three of them, Blue taking a break from Donna’s pussy to find Mary’s, shoving himself in deep. Mary moaned and spread her legs wider under her friend’s, letting him pound her.