Текст книги "Crosstown Crush"
Автор книги: Cara McKenna
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Six months later
Samira looked up at the sound of two men groaning in unison. It wasn’t a sordid noise – not yet, anyhow – but enough to pause her hands in the midst of spooning guacamole into a wooden bowl.
“What?” she called over the breakfast bar.
Mike was on the couch, Bern kitty-corner on the easy chair, both their sets of eyes on the TV.
“They just scored,” Mike said, reaching for his beer.
“Field goal,” Bern added. “Not that it’ll save them.” He was wearing a yellow-and-black-striped beanie with a pom-pom on its peak, and Mike was in his supposedly lucky Steelers sweatshirt. It appeared to be working today.
“I’d sympathize, but I don’t have a dog in this fight.” Sam carried the snacks over and took her seat beside Mike, swinging her thighs over his.
“I’ll convert you yet,” he told her.
“No chance. I’ll die a Giants girl.”
Mike hooked a thumb toward Bern. “He switched, like a respectable citizen.”
“I rooted for the Titans when I was a kid,” Bern said, “but Kentucky doesn’t have any real allegiances. It was nice to move to a city where people get rabid over this shit. Though on the flip side, around here it’s like, convert or get lynched.”
“Sam’s not even from New York,” Mike said. “I don’t get where the loyalty comes from.”
“Newark is, like, three feet from New York. Plus I lived there for twelve years.”
“You marry me, you marry the Steelers.”
“I took your name,” Sam said, rooting through the chips for a folded-over one. “But I’ll never take your colors. Everyone looks terrible in yellow, anyway.”
“Blasphemy.”
“Have we ever been in the Super Bowl against each other?” she asked Mike. She might own a Giants jersey, but she couldn’t claim any sort of superfan status.
“Never. And we’ll need marriage counseling if it ever happens.”
Bern laughed and tipped his beer bottle to his lips.
Sam smiled, zoning out as the game came back from a commercial. She wanted to pinch herself, to be sure this was all real once more.
How had they gotten here, to this moment, on this lazy Sunday afternoon? Outside it was dark and snowy, with a bitter, biting wind, but here, by the glow of their little Christmas tree and the flashing television, all was so cozy, almost innocent.
It hadn’t been easy, that much she knew.
Sam had pled her case with Mike, firmly, and repeatedly, and he’d listened, if not immediately agreed. She didn’t speak to Bern for six weeks after the Incident – as she’d come to name that out-of-bounds night, and Mike’s thuggish rebuttal – while she and Mike worked toward healing the scrapes she’d put on his trust. His anger and hurt had faded with time, thanks in no small part to Sam’s willing abstinence from contact with Bern, and the fact that the man had respected their marriage and not reached out to her, either. Then in early September, Mike had come around. What had he said to her, late that night, after a long day of contemplative quiet and a near-silent, slow, intense bout of sex?
I think maybe I’m ready to try it again. If he’s still interested, and if we can get the rules exactly right.
For all her optimism, Sam had been surprised.
Bern had been interested. Cautious but intrigued, and still single.
The cardinal rule was that all three of them needed to be present for any encounters that might happen, going forward. Sam had no issue with that, since the thing that excited her most was having both of their bodies there with her.
At first, the bulk of the control had been ceded to Mike – the tone of their encounters had been his to dictate, since he’d been the one violated by Sam and Bern’s missteps. The reprised weekly meet-ups had felt much like their initial dates, to start – cuckolding was the driving dynamic once more, though Mike didn’t pretend to catch them, the way he had at the start. He mostly watched, sometimes masturbated, always reclaimed Sam after Bern left, but didn’t join in at first. He was stronger in his role than he had been before – less humiliated and helpless, and far more openly excited by watching them. Bossier, too – probably a touch eager to keep his alpha status clear this time around. Sam loved the change, loved this gruff new version of Mike more than the pathetic one he used to favor. He seemed like the conductor of his desires now, not merely a passive audience.
Sam and Bern kept their chemistry overtly physical these days, and their text and e-mail exchanges relegated to planning purposes only. For now. She imagined that might change, with time and trust, but the loss of those fun, dirty messages was a tiny price to pay to have him back in their lives, and their bed. Her crush was still there, but that summer’s scare had been so painful, she felt no temptation to lose track of her heart that way again.
In time, as the cuckolding games went on and Mike’s confidence grew, he’d proposed a change. They ought to switch who called the shots from week to week, he’d suggested, and Sam and Bern agreed.
Bern’s nights to direct looked much like Mike’s, though he favored the presence of the camera or a mirror, naturally. He liked sometimes for Sam and Mike to watch him masturbate while they had sex with each other. He liked to watch them, she thought. He seemed to find it fascinating in some way, if not as electric as being the show, himself. Ever eager to please, he often got caught up in Sam’s fantasies by the end of his evenings and made sure she got to feel the both of them against her in the finale.
Of the three of them, it was Sam who pushed the most boundaries this time around.
Back in the spring, when this had all begun, she’d always imagined the arrangement was a gift she’d be giving her husband – orchestrated with enthusiasm, but ultimately for him. She’d never have guessed she’d find appetites of her own inside it. Never have imagined she’d fight to keep this in their lives, or guessed she’d feel the power she did, holding sway over them.
She eyed Mike, who was transfixed by the game. She eyed Bern, also distracted, though in time his gaze swiveled to catch hers. She smiled, and he returned it. A glance at the screen told her it was nearly the end of the fourth quarter, and that the Steelers were up by thirteen, their victory a foregone conclusion. It was time to shift this easy, platonic afternoon into a racier gear.
She curled her finger at Bern, and his eyebrows rose, smile turning mischievous. Sam patted the couch cushion beside her and he got up, skirting the coffee table to take a seat. She loved the way his weight dipped her cushion, and how she could already feel his heat. Feel the heat of both their strong bodies, and her own temperature rising.
Mike had lost interest in the game, studying her now.
“It’s your night,” Bern murmured, scooting closer. Sam’s back was half to him, her legs still draped over Mike’s lap, and he ran a slow palm down her arm, raising goose bumps even through her thick sweater. “What are you in the mood for?”
She craned her neck to regard his face and eased the hat from his hair. She knew every strand, it seemed, black and silver alike. “What a very good question.” And one she had answers for. She wanted lots of things tonight. Wanted their two laboring bodies, first and foremost, but more. Since that punch had been thrown, since this affair had been destroyed and then resurrected, Mike and Bern had reeled back their physical contact. So much of it had been tied into Mike’s desire for humiliation, and that had taken a backseat in their reimagined games, as his role had become more assertive, dominant, even.
“There’s something I’ve been missing,” Sam said, looking at each of them in turn. “And maybe its time has passed, or maybe it’d have to be worked up to gradually, but I miss when you two… touch each other. In any way, really,” she added quickly. “It doesn’t have to be hard-core, like it was, but just a little something.” She’d not have come out and asked for this back in the spring and summer, even though she herself had been happy to exit her comfort zone for both their desires – her shyness about being filmed, for Bern, and the entire experiment to begin with, for her husband. But she had distinct wants of her own now, and the balls to name them.
“Like what?” Mike asked, his voice soft and receptive.
“Just about anything.” She gave the scene some thought. She wanted lots of things she didn’t think they’d be ready for – to watch them kiss, and more – but less intense stuff as well. “If one of you is taking me, and the other’s watching, or lying on my other side, it’d be hot to see your hands on the other guy’s hip or back, sort of urging him, maybe. Just your hands on each other, in any way you’re okay with. If you’re okay with it,” she added, glancing at each of them.
“It’s your night,” Bern said again with a smile. “Whatever gets you hot.”
Mike was slower to reply, but she could tell from his tone that he knew his boundaries and was game to push them. “I’d be okay with it. With anything we’ve done in the past, but not much further.”
Her heart leapt, and in the background the football fans roared their approval – surely of a game-clinching play, but to Sam it felt like she’d just triumphed, herself. How many times had she replayed those memories of Mike taking Bern in his mouth, these past months? Too many to count.
Sam looked to Mike, leaned in to kiss him. He accepted it hungrily and tugged her closer. She straddled his lap and got lost in this mouth she knew so well, excited and proud to feel her other lover’s eyes on them – and then his hand. Bern’s heavy palm stroked her back and neck, and she felt the elastic slide free from her ponytail. Soon she’d feel more – the bare, hot skin of both of these men against her, the flex of their needy bodies, the smell of their sweat as the sex turned the December chill into a figment of their imaginations.
As hot as Mike’s mouth or Bern’s hand was the tantalizing unknown of whatever might come after they went upstairs, when Sam let her desires direct these two men – everything in store for her tonight. They hadn’t ruined it back in July. Not through Sam and Bern’s fuckup, not by Mike’s hand when he’d thrown that punch. They’d knocked it down, but in the end, all the bricks had remained, and a foundation of symbiotic need and desire, and they’d built something familiar, something similar but also entirely new, in its place.
Sam broke her lips from Mike’s, breathing hard, feeling hot and tight and needy in the darkest shadows of her body. “Let’s go upstairs,” she told him, and let her hungry stare echo it at Bern.
Bern nodded and stood. “I’ll be right up.” And he disappeared to do as he always did now – to make a stop in the downstairs bathroom so that Mike and Sam could enter the bedroom together, first. Whether that little ritual symbolized his deference, or Mike’s primacy, or some other subtle acknowledgment that he was still the guest in these matters, she wasn’t entirely sure. But it felt right, and it spoke to that intuition he’d always possessed.
Sam and Mike headed upstairs hand in hand, and at the landing she asked, “You’re sure about being ready to touch him?”
They paused inside the door. “It’s your night,” he said. “Whatever you want to see.”
She smiled, and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re a very indulgent husband.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Back in a minute.”
He nodded.
Sam closed herself in the en suite bath, then grinned at her reflection as she dried her hands and smoothed her hair. Beyond the bedroom, she heard that telltale squeak, followed by the low rumble of male voices.
Through this door, two men waited, hungry to please her.
“Showtime,” she murmured, and shut off the light.
Let the games begin.
Downtown Devil
Read on for a sizzling sneak preview of the next book in Cara McKenna’s Sins in the City series,
DOWNTOWN DEVIL
Available from Piatkus in Summer 2016
Good as the movie was, it wasn’t enough to hold Clare’s attention. Not when she could feel Mica’s body heat at her side, all but sense his pulse and every urge coursing through his body.
And I know exactly what that body is capable of. She knew exactly what it looked like, doing dark things to hers, knew how ably it could excite her, please her. She knew the feel of his skin under her palms, the smell of him.
Mica’s attention was on her – not the film, not his roommate sitting mere feet away. She could sense it, real as touch. She glanced to the side and, sure enough, those eyes were waiting. Watching. His face was bathed in the restless glow of the TV, and he smiled.
Nothing about this man was more seductive than his smile. Her gaze dropped to the open V of his collar, to the soft, sparse hair and tempting skin. She inched her hand over, up his thigh to close over his. He clasped her fingers, thumb rubbing her knuckles fiercely, and the intention in those eyes went dark as pitch. Clare swallowed.
Take me to your room. It’d be so easy. Just stand, tug her to her feet, lead her down the hall. Vaughn wouldn’t care. He was buzzed, same as them, and he had to know he’d walked in on the middle of a make-out session. And he’d been kind to Clare the morning she’d woken up alone in his best friend’s bed, so he wasn’t the type to judge. It wouldn’t be rude if they just left. She held Mica’s gaze, then flicked her own over his shoulder, to the hall. His grin deepened.
He leaned close and put that brazen mouth to her temple. “Something you need?”
“I bet you can guess.”
“The movie not working for you?” he whispered, and she shivered as his lips brushed her cheek.
“It’s fine, but I’m feeling a little distracted.” A little distracted, a little drunk, monumentally horny. She freed her hand to rub his thigh, dipped her face so she could press her mouth to his jaw. Not quite a kiss, but she let him feel a hot, heavy exhalation, and hear the need in her very breath.
He turned his head, caught her lips with his. The kiss was deep and dirty, so good she wanted to drop her chin back and sigh aloud. Instead she held his head in both hands, let her fingers get lost in his dreads, let him feel her hunger, taste it on her tongue.
Something noisy happened on-screen, whisking her out of the moment just long enough to remember they weren’t alone. She pulled back, flushed, and let Mica go. She felt silly and overcome, and surely he could see that in her dopey grin.
“We should go to your room,” she mouthed.
“In a minute.” And he was kissing her again, hungry and needy. No red-blooded woman could possibly say no to that.
His hand crept higher, warm palm cupping her breast, stealing her breath. A flash of worry chased the bloom of arousal. We’re not alone on this couch.
It was dark, though, and Clare’s buzz made it hard to feel scandalized. A glance in Vaughn’s direction said he wasn’t paying them any attention. The wine was making it very difficult to care… and to be perfectly honest, there was something a little wicked, a little hot, about going there with Vaughn sitting only feet away. With most any other guy, she doubted that would be the case, but Mica’s sexuality was so bold, so provocative… It fit, somehow. And Vaughn seemed like the type of man who’d have no trouble excusing himself or calling out his friend if things got too weird for him.
As for Clare, the idea had her hot. Her cheeks were burning, her blood pulsing thick and fast from both nerves and excitement.
“Your room,” she said again, rubbing Mica’s arm.
He whispered, “Do you like him?”
Her hand stilled. “What?”
“My friend. Do you like him?”
Upended, unsure what precisely he meant, she said, “Sure.”
“You want him?”
No reply came, not for long seconds. “I’m not… I don’t know.” She knew Vaughn was kind and respectful, and handsome. But what Mica was getting at… Shit, she wasn’t thinking straight. The wine had left her warm and easy. If all Mica was after was a bit of kinky dirty talk, she wasn’t opposed.
“Want him how?” she asked.
“You want to kiss him?”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe a little. Does that make you jealous?” she teased. “Or… or did you want to see that?”
By the light of the TV, he smiled. “Maybe a little.”
“It’s all up to him, anyway,” she said.
“Ask him, then.”
She blushed, bit her lip. “I couldn’t.”
“You could. Just turn. Catch his eye. Ask him.”
“Is that a dare?”
“If that excites you, sure.”
Fuck, did it? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the more they talked about it, the less scandalous – and the more thrilling – the idea felt. Mica had a way of making the filthiest, most wrong things sound irresistible.
His voice went low, all but growling against her throat. “It excites me.”
She swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to ask.”
“You just turn,” he said again, “and you meet his eyes, and you tell him, ‘I want to kiss you.’”
Her lips pursed, uncertain. If she did it – if she wasn’t rebuffed and embarrassed and left never wanting to come by this apartment again – and if Vaughn was into it, where would this end, exactly? With Mica getting his kinky thrill and hustling her down the hall to his room? Or somewhere altogether unexpected?
“You want me to dare you?” he whispered.
“No.”
“You want me to ask him for you?”
Another warm flush as she tried to imagine it. Imagine what Mica would even say to his friend. At length, she decided aloud. “I’ll do it.”
That smile deepened, carving lines beside his lips. “Good.”
But not without another dose of courage, she thought, reaching for her wine.
Vaughn glanced to their end of the couch as she set the glass back on the table. His own tumbler was empty, and it had been his second. He was feeling the whiskey, no doubt. “I’ll, um, I’ll get out of your way, I think.”
And faced with now or never, nerves muted by the alcohol, Clare was startled to hear the reply waiting on her lips.
“Could I kiss you?” Her eyes held his and the words seemed to float in the shadows between them. A bold question, spoken softly, warmly. Hopefully, even – she heard longing in her voice.
His brows rose. “Kiss me?” He looked past her to Mica, and Clare could only imagine what that man’s expression must be saying. Something filthy. Something shameless.
She nodded. “Only if you want to.”
His mouth closed, opened. He blinked, and she admired his eyes, those dark lashes she’d not really noticed before. If not for Mica’s energy eclipsing everything around him, she might have met Vaughn at that party and gone home thinking he was the best-looking man she’d seen all night.
“So, do you want to?” She couldn’t even say who this woman was, operating her lungs and lips and tongue. It was as though desire had turned corporeal, stolen her body and voice. No regard for what was appropriate, no cares beyond the wants of her mouth, hands, sex. “Would you kiss me?”
Another glance at Mica, a pause, a nod. “Yeah,” he said softly, lids dropping low. “I would.”
She stretched her arm along the back of the couch, angled her legs, welcomed him to come close. Their eyes met, and she saw her own wine-tinged uncertainty reflected back at her. But there was more. Curiosity behind the hesitance, and yeah, she felt that, too. Mica wasn’t her boyfriend, after all – far from it. She wasn’t worried about doing something that might complicate a relationship.
She could already feel Mica’s heat and energy at her back, and now his fingertips joined the scene, alighting softly between her shoulder blades. He didn’t urge, didn’t push. Merely touched, letting her know, I’m here. I’m watching. I’m excited.
Vaughn edged closer and their knees touched. She stroked his collar, studied his mouth. Those stunning white teeth, framed by soft-looking lips. A flash of pink as his tongue wet them. He leaned in and she did the same.
For a moment, Clare barely registered the kiss. All she was aware of was Mica’s watching, and for half a minute it was a performance, not a kiss. Then something changed. Something fell aside, and in a blink her attention shifted, captured by Vaughn’s mouth.
His lips were full and lush, a touch hesitant. She let him know she wanted this, putting a hand to his face. His jaw was rough with the day’s stubble, but other parts were soft – his cheek, his earlobe, his temple. As she touched him, his kisses deepened. Not dirty like Mica’s, not that bold, but sensual and taunting in their own way. Mica’s sexuality was a brushfire; Vaughn’s was a smoldering hearth.
She tilted her face, invited more. A hand warmed her side, and it took her a moment to realize it was Mica’s. She shivered, and heat rushed in as that pleasant chill subsided. This is so wrong. So wrong and so fucking hot.
Vaughn cupped her neck, his broad hand cool from his glass. With every stroke of their tongues, every exhalation that mingled between them, his hesitation faded, until she could feel the excitement humming deep in his chest. Mica’s hand slid lower, kneading her hip. She felt its mate at her neck, pushing her hair aside. His breath caressed her nape; then came his lips. Two men’s mouths on her. Two men’s heat stoking hers. Two men’s desires, at once intimidating and empowering.
She reached back to run her hand over Mica’s hair, fisted it softly.
“You like how he kisses?” he murmured, loud enough for them both to hear.
“Yes.” She spoke it right against Vaughn’s mouth, and felt his body tense in reply.
Mica’s palm on her hip rose and slid forward, closing her breast in its heat. The other was still in her hair, and she wondered if the two men’s fingertips were touching. With every sweep of Vaughn’s tongue, every soft squeeze of Mica’s hand, she was sucked deeper into the lust, so deep that the wine was moot, its chemical intoxication nothing compared to this.
She was all but panting when Vaughn drew back, stealing that heavenly mouth. “Where’s this going?” he whispered. His voice was thick, distracted. Sexy.
“I don’t know.” She suspected one person in this room did know, however. She suspected the man at her back knew exactly where he wanted this to end up. She craned her neck and met Mica’s gaze.
“You like him?” he asked, dark eyes full of heat.
“Yeah.”
“You want him?”
She swallowed and spoke the truth. “I think I do.”
“You should have what you want,” he said simply, and lowered his mouth to her throat once more. It snatched her breath for a moment; then she sought Vaughn’s eyes and asked, “Do you want that?”
“If you do. If you’re not too drunk, I mean.” He looked flustered, but some clarity returned and brightened his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know.” His caution couldn’t be faulted. The proposition implied that he’d shortly be getting naked with his best friend, and that didn’t seem like a leap the average man would take lightly.
“I’m not drunk,” she said, realizing it was true. She’d had two large glasses of wine – enough for a healthy buzz, enough to dull her inhibitions, but not enough to rob her of her judgment. “And I do want that. You, and him.”
Vaughn didn’t reply except to kiss her. Deep and dirty, with more passion and aggression than she’d yet felt from him – a taste of what Mica transmitted, when they did this. She imagined all that lust that radiated from his skin, doubled. Two mouths, four hands on her. Two excited male bodies. Two cocks.
This is really about to happen.
And as that fact sank in, she didn’t think they could get there soon enough.
