Page 2 of Two Wrongs
‘Goodness!’ June exclaims.
‘It’s so much better with sound,’ Nat crows.
I begin to make my way around the low table to Natasha, if for nothing else than to stop her little show. But is it odd to think the audio—the girl on the receiving end of that sausage—sounds a little like me?
‘Fuck, that’s so good, darlin’,’ a deep voice growls. ‘Come on, get there. Get there for me.’
‘Is that a Scots accent?’ June asks her granddaughter a little excitedly.
That must be it—where I hear the similarity—or I’m imagining things because that sounds a little bit like...
‘Fuck me, Dylan. Fuck me harder!’
‘Aye, he’s from out west.’
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Blood drains from my entire body, weighting my feet to the spot. I think it’s possible my heart actually stops because I do know those voices. And I know that sausage—I mean—that man. I also happen to be a member of the show playing out on Natasha’s phone.A cast of just two.It was another time, another place, and another person, but yes, that person was me.
Something twisty and needling pokes me in the chest followed quickly by a cool coating of relief. I must be in shock because I shouldn’t feel comforted by the fact that—
‘Gonna flip you over and make you come on my tongue.’
—comforted by the fact I haven’t forgottenthe sound of him.That delicious husky rasp. The accent he’s famous for.And though I know his voice to be deep any time of the day, but during sex, there’s a huskiness to it that, even now, hits me right between the legs.
And a moment later, I hate myself.
‘Oh, God. Dylannnn.’
I sound ... well, fucked.
‘Your pussy feels like heaven, baby.’
‘He’s got a terrible, filthy mouth!’ exclaims June, more compliment than complaint.
‘Edera... Sei molto bella!’ Grunting. Skin meeting skin. ‘Dolce figa...’
‘I wonder what it means?’ June squeaks over the top of Dylan’s dirty Italian.
Hurt, anger, longing, and lust are pushed aside as clarity hits me quite suddenly upside the head. Yes, the past me is getting screwed, but in the here and now, I’m about to be really and truly fucked as I recall two things:
I’m not the only viewing party here.
And things are about to go horribly wrong.
‘Is—is that?’ Still glued to the spot, I raise my arm, pointing my finger like some bloodless harbinger of doom. I expect I look just as pale.
‘Aye, Dylan Duffy’s massive schlong has just hit the internet!’ Much like June, Nat’s answer borders on glee, her eyes unmoving from the screen. Which is probably just as well, given the state of shock I’m in. ‘Lucky girl, whoever she is. She’s got a fantastic arse.’
‘Turn it off. I said turn it off!’
Panic balls in my throat as I remember, vividly, what comes next.
So this mightn’t have been the only time Dylan and I recorded our lovemaking.
So I may have watched it more than once or twice.
So I might know exactly what’s coming next.Me, obviously. The moans are a pretty big clue.
