Just Pretend

Chapter Four

Gwen

It’s not like I want the world to know that Mark is a soul-sucking demon, so when Jason comes by with Clarissa at his side, I try to get him to understand that Mark can’t know that I’ve met him already.  Relief washes though me when he pretends that we haven’t met and I tell Clarissa to help us with the ruse while in the kitchen.
She helps me measure out the flour for the cake I’m baking for after dinner tonight, and doesn’t ask any questions when I ask her not to give any indication that Jason and I’ve met, however briefly, and she nods in understanding.
The look the Jason gives me when he sees me walk out of the kitchen with Clarissa on my hip has my ovaries starting to clap hands, and I push down the urge to bring up the children topic with Mark, knowing that it’s a dead end and has been for the last four years.
He hands me my lighter, careful not to brush my palm with his fingers before Mark stamps his mark of possession on me and forcing Clarissa over to Jason.  I hand her off to him and the attraction between Jason and I spark even more than when we’d shared my joint earlier.  I look up at Clarissa, who’s watching me with a calculated gaze that’s far too intelligent for her years, and I spot a smudge of flour on her cheek.  I step out of Mark’s arm as Jason explains to him that he’s watching the house and Clarissa for a while and does so on and off throughout the year; whenever Alyssa and Will go on holiday.
I reach up to Clarissa’s cheek, acutely aware of Jason and Mark’s eyes on me, and wipe the flour from her cheek and reluctantly stepping out of Jason’s space, but I make sure not to step back into Mark’s embrace.  He steps closer and wraps his arm around my waist, his hand coming to rest on the swell of my ass and squeezing the flesh painfully.
‘Maybe you can keep her company when I’m away on work for the rest of the week,’ Mark says suddenly and I almost choke on my tongue.  I didn’t know that he’s going away for work.
I’m not complaining, though.
‘Yeah, sure.  When are you leaving?’ Jason asks the question even I don’t know the answer to and Mark answers that he’s leaving early the next morning.  I refuse to let it show that I was ecstatic at the news, but my mood deflates instantly when Mark says I’m driving him to the airport after packing for him.  There’s a flash of disgust over Jason’s face but it’s so fleeting that I’m not sure if I’d imagined it, but when he looks at me briefly, the emotion is still in the depths of his green eyes.  I shrug and agree with Mark, but excitement sings through me at the idea of being Mark-free for a week.
Jason nods, confirming that he doesn’t mind popping in once or twice during the week and Mark reminds me that I have to be courteous and share our cannabis with Jason and I throw Mark an exasperated look, knowing that he’s being condescending.
Jason chuckles good naturedly, but his eyes are cold when they look at Mark.  I bite the inside of my cheek when Mark proceeds to belittle me in front of Jason and Clarissa.  Not long after the tirade begins, Clarissa jumps down from Jason’s arms and makes her way out of our house, waving at me over her shoulder as she walks over to her house.
Jason’s eyes narrow at Mark but he keeps silent, but his eyes fall on me and he raises an eyebrow at me.  I just shake my head in response to his silent question and avert my eyes to the ceiling.  Jason stops Mark at one point, during one particular insulting rant, asking him why he’s still with me if I was such a shitty girlfriend.
I look at Jason in alarm, feeling my heart kick up a notch and jump into my throat, before looking cautiously at Mark, who’s glaring at Jason.
“Listen, bruh, how I talk to and about her is my business.” Mark says before passive aggressively telling Jason to leave.  I don’t look at Jason when he replies that I’d be better off without Mark and leaves.  I only let my eyes fall on him seconds before Mark slams the door.  I catch a glimpse of Jason looking back at me and mouthing something just as the door closes and Mark turns his attention to me.
‘What did you say to him?’ He asks and I fight not to let my jaw drop on the floor at his accusation and I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ I want to elaborate, but I don’t know what exactly he’s referring to and I don’t want to ruin anything that might occur.
‘So you don’t know him? You didn’t spend any time with him before he showed up here?’ he asks and I shake my head in response, not wanting to speak just yet.  I clear my throat to buy me time and Mark’s eyebrows raise into his receding hairline.
At thirty-two, Mark’s thick blonde hair is starting to leave him, creating a receding hairline and bald spot on the back of his head, while mine, at twenty-eight, is long and thick, showing no signs of thinning.
Mark is six-foot tall, with blonde hair and muddy brown eyes, and broad shoulders and a bit of a beer belly.  Tan skin stretches over sagging body-building muscles, but he keeps himself in shape as much as he possibly can.  Which isn't much.
‘No, I don’t.  I literally only saw him as I was closing the garden gate,’ I say and he takes a step towards me.  I know better than to step away, instead, I step towards him and he pauses before his face contorts in anger and he turns to the stairs.
‘So how did he know that it was your lighter?’ he asks and I shrug, hoping to look nonchalant.
‘He probably saw me when he was coming in and thought that since I was the last person to leave, he thought he’d check with us first.’  I hope the lie is plausible enough to pass his scrutiny and jealousy for the moment and when he agrees, I keep my face straight but relief courses through me.
‘Why don’t we go upstairs and forget that this happened?’ he asks, his voice dropping down into the seductive tone that used to get me dripping wet, but I reluctantly agreed; my own level of horniness reaching dangerous levels.
I know the cause of it though; and it’s not Mark.
A sting of guilt runs through me for a split second before it disappears as I follow him upstairs, picking up his clothes as he pulls them off and drops them carelessly on the floor.  When we reach the bedroom, Mark pulls me into his arms, taking the clothes from me and dumping them on the floor, and crushes his lips to mine.
He smells of stale cigarette smoke and old bong water, but I force myself to kiss him back, my mind thankfully supplying me with the image of a shirtless Jason swimming in the pool with water glistening on his skin.
I’m not the type of girl to cheat on anything; I’ve never cheated on a test in my life, nor have I skipped a red light, and I’ve always been the one cheated on. I know it’s only a matter of time before Mark does the same, and honestly, if he cheated on me tomorrow; I will probably be thankful for it.  However, in this case a little fantasy really couldn’t hurt.
Mark knows too much about me to let me go if I leave him.
I groan as his lips leave mine to find my neck and I allow my mind to go with the image if a half-naked Jason doing this to me.  In my mind, it’s not Mark tearing my sundress off, or pushing two fingers into me through my underwear and biting my nipples.
I like rough sex, what can I say?
I can feel my body coiling tighter and tighter as Mark continues fingering me roughly, causing the stinging between my legs to worsen, but I’m too close to my orgasm to care about it, but I know that he’s not putting his dick in me.  The second my body releases and I come with a moan as he pushes his tongue between my lips, I drop to my knees and take his bare dick in my mouth, gagging at the taste of old piss and come.  He groans in pleasure and leans his torso back, pushing his hips forward into my mouth and snaking his fingers into my hair.
He forces my head forward and my eyes start watering as the scent of sweat hits my nose when he buries it in his pubes, pushing his dick deeper down my throat and enjoying the contraction of my throat while I gag.
It doesn’t take him long to come; I’ve known him long enough – and dreaded sex with him long enough – to know how to get him off quickly.  I add my hand to the mix and pump it along with my mouth, avoiding any tongue contact with him as much as possible, and I feel his balls draw up against the back of my hand.
I’d rather shower than vomit, so I pull my mouth off him and continue pumping him with my hand, going with the frantic rhythm of his hips as a series of curses fall from his lips.
I let him come over my breasts and the sight doubles the amount that spurts from the tip of his dick as I direct it at my chest.  When he’s done, he pulls me up to and crushes his lips to mine, before bending down and retrieving his boxers and pulling them on.
He leaves the bedroom but not before telling me to take a bath. 
Advice I’m actually taking.