Текст книги "Crosstown Crush"
Автор книги: Cara McKenna
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“Well, for starters, I feel kinda silly calling you S. Is there something else we could use?”
“Sam is fine.”
“Sam. I like that. You a Samantha?”
The truth would be a bold move, given that there was probably only a handful of Samiras in the whole of Pittsburgh, but her intuition sounded no alarms. “I’m a Samira, actually.”
“Oh, right, your ad said you’re, what? Persian?”
“Yeah. My parents both grew up in Iran. What about you? Is Bern short for Bernard?” she asked.
“It is. Kinda geriatric, right?”
“Only a little.”
“It was my great-grandfather’s name. I think I got off easy, though – it was between that and Leslie.”
“Close call.”
“So, you were going to explain how you thought the first meeting might go.” Some motion hitched his voice, like he, too, had dropped onto a couch and gotten comfortable. Though for all Sam knew, Mr. Exhibitionist had just taken out his cock and stationed himself in front of a mirror or a wide-open window or a webcam, but she’d run with the first notion.
“We were thinking that for the first time, I’d meet the man at a bar. We have a lot of scenarios, actually, just from… you know. Dirty talk and that sort of thing.”
“Sure.”
“So the idea was that my husband and I would go to the same place, separately. He’d sit off to one side and I’d sit at the bar, pretending not to know he was there. Then you’d meet me, and we’d act like we were having an affair, or that you were picking me up as a stranger, something like that.”
“Right.”
“And my husband would watch us flirt. Though, if you and I didn’t feel any kind of spark, we could just talk about how awkward we felt and pretend to flirt.”
Another soft, seductive laugh. “Fair enough.”
“Then I’d head out and my husband would probably still be happy, just to have seen me getting hit on by some strange guy.”
An unmistakable smirk warmed his tone. “I’d like to think I’m not so strange.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sam returned, smiling to herself.
“And so what if there was a spark?”
“On the first night, probably just a lot of flirting, and casual touches. As much as two people can get away with in a bar. Making out, maybe.” She blushed, feeling silly. With two years’ practice, Sam could wax filthy with no hesitation for Mike’s ears, but no other person on earth had ever met this side of her before. Until now.
“Speaking of getting away with stuff at a bar,” Bern said, “I imagine you’d need to meet me someplace pretty far from where you live, where you won’t know anybody.”
“I would. Shouldn’t be too tough, though. I’m not a native and I didn’t go to college here or anything. I’m willing to chance a meeting or two.”
“Gotcha. I’m not eager to run into a friend, either, so we’ll just have to settle on a neighborhood neither of us usually goes to. Can I ask where you guys live?”
“Shadyside.”
“Ah, nice.”
“And I work right downtown, so that’s out, too.”
“Well, I’m way down in Carrick,” Bern said, “so maybe meet in the middle? Someplace around the South Side?”
“That could work.” She swirled the wine in her glass, feeling relieved and more than a bit wicked. “So. You think you might want to?”
“Meet up? At the risk of sounding too eager, I’m intrigued. Very intrigued.”
“Me, too. And my husband is as well.”
“If you’ll forgive me saying so, I can’t wait to meet this piece of work you married.”
She grinned, trying to guess what sort of wimpy beta male Bern was picturing. “You might be surprised. Can I ask what you do, or is that too personal?”
“Let’s save all that for the bar. Don’t worry – no shocking surprises or anything, but let’s maybe conserve the small-talk topics. We might need them.”
“I guess we’re going with the picked-up-by-a-stranger routine, then,” Sam said, pleased to catch herself flirting for real without even thinking about it.
“I’m game if you guys are. What’s the next step?” he asked. “Do you need my full name or my social or something, for that background check?”
“That’d be good. Hang on.” She rose and went to the counter, to scribble on the grocery list pad.
“Bernard Davies,” he said, and Sam copied down his address and social security digits.
“Thanks. Do you want mine?”
“No, that’s okay. You’re in my call log now. That’s probably enough for the police to track you down with, after you and your husband bury me in a shallow grave.”
“Not before we’ve had our way with you,” she countered.
There was a pause, and then Bern spoke, his tone different from before, firmer. “Speaking of that – of you guys having your way with me.”
“Uh-huh.” She headed back to the couch, suspecting a serious conversation was to follow.
“I looked this whole cuckolding thing up, after I read your ad,” Bern said. “I saw a bunch of references to something called ‘forced bi.’ Did you guys have anything like that in mind? Your husband… you know, doing anything with me? To the guy you wind up with, that is.”
“We haven’t discussed it, no. That aspect hasn’t come up in the couple of years we’ve been playing around with the idea, in the dirty talk. He’s never said anything that made me think he wanted to go down on a guy or anything. Nothing direct. He… Hmm.” She sighed. “Can I be frank, and kind of gross?”
“Sure.”
“He’s sort of into the whole sloppy-seconds thing. We’ve pretended that a guy’s…” Her face flushed and she was glad Bern wasn’t there to see how red her cheeks had surely gone. “We’ve pretended another guy was with me, and you know… came. Inside me. He likes to feel like there’s proof. So there may be a bit of that.”
“But you don’t think he wants to touch me?”
“I don’t think so. He’s never made any noises about anything like that.”
“And the whole coming-inside-you thing,” Bern said, sounding not at all red in the face, unlike Sam. “That begs the question about condoms.”
“Definitely condoms. Only if it seemed like everyone wanted it to be a long-term arrangement, then we could all get tested, I guess. I was thinking of maybe using female condoms, if my husband wanted to be able to… you know.” She couldn’t bring herself to utter “sloppy seconds” again so she let Bern infer it.
“Gotcha.”
“Well, I have to talk to my husband about everything, but do you think you’re interested in giving the first meet-up a try?”
“I am. I’m free this weekend, if you guys are. I imagine a Saturday night’s best?”
Oh my. This Saturday night? It felt awfully soon. Then again, she and Mike were on vacation after Friday, and what better way to kick off the week?
“Yeah, that could work. Let me talk to my husband, and I’ll send you an e-mail and we can nail down the where and when.” Where and when to meet the man she might one day cheat on her husband with. So fucking weird.
“Sounds good,” he said.
“Cool. Well, thanks for calling.”
“Thanks for picking up. Maybe you’ll pick me up in some other context in a few days.”
She smiled at that. “Maybe.”
“Have a good night, Sam.”
“You, too.”
As she set the phone aside, she felt deeply exposed. She got up and closed the curtains to quell the sensation, and put on a sweater. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, this psychic nakedness. She felt stripped down past her skin, way down deep to her ethics. Right into the core of her bones, like the whole world could see her marrow, what her marriage was made of.
Fine. Let them.
What good was an intentionally selfish lifestyle if they didn’t take every opportunity to explore their relationship? They’d chosen to nurture their own bond and needs in place of a child, and she wasn’t going to neglect something as fundamental as Mike’s sexuality.
She unbuttoned her sweater and tossed it aside, flung the curtains open, and shoved the windows up to let in the sounds of the city. She poured a third glass and lit a couple of pillar candles, stretched out on the couch, and got to daydreaming about where all this fascinating nonsense might take them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The background check took a matter of moments – Mike ran it between eating his bagel and doing his push-ups the next morning.
It came back perfectly clean, and Sam toyed with drafting a confidentiality agreement for the three of them to sign, then decided not to bother. It could only ever be a formality; if Bern Davies turned out to be a sociopath and wanted to hurt them, it wasn’t as though a piece of paper was going to stop him. And, most important, her gut said it was unnecessary, and she trusted that even more than she did tables and projections.
Now the only thing that stood between them and Bern was Sam writing an e-mail and inviting him, officially. Inviting him along for step one in the amendment of their wedding vows.
Or rather, step one in Operation: Let’s See How Hot Our Sex Life Can Get. Yes, that was the attitude. This proposition had her equally excited and anxious, but whenever the latter felt as if it was winning out, she pulled up that photo of Bern from her e-mail, and his smile eased her mind. And thrilled certain other parts.
Saturday at eight, Bern agreed via e-mail, and they chose a decent-looking neighborhood bar neither had ever been to, just south of the river, halfway between Bern’s place and theirs.
Saturday. One day, a wait that sounded at once like ages and seconds. Hell of a way to kick off her and Mike’s first joint vacation in more than a year.
See you tonight, she wrote to Bern the next afternoon. When I get there I’ll head for the bar, whichever side is most visible to the rest of the room. I’ll be wearing jeans and a dark green, low-cut shirt, and a necklace with a silver disc on it.And a wedding band.:-)
A charge crackled Sam’s nerves as she fastened the necklace in question. She was scared, but the good kind of scared.
She remembered all the auditions she’d had, all the teams she’d tried out for, all the résumés she’d polished and interviews she’d dressed up for, all the first dates. It was a healthy fear, the fear of losing out on something potentially life-changing. A delicious anxiety built of yearning. She checked herself in the mirror on the closet door, liking what she saw. She hoped Bern would like it, too. She hoped Mike would like watching Bern liking it.
They’d debated who would need alcohol the most, to handle whatever might come, and who’d abstain in the name of driving. The answer was that the both of them would probably need a couple of drinks. But it was a special night and they could afford it, so they splashed out and called for a taxi.
While they waited, they got a plan in place, in case things became too intense for either of them. If Mike got uncomfortable, he’d simply sidle up to the bar and pretend to study the liquor bottles before heading for the men’s room. That was Sam’s cue to wrap up her conversation, tell Bern it wasn’t working for her, and politely pay the tab. If Sam got spooked, all she had to do was excuse herself and go to Mike.
Only time would tell if either escape route was necessary.
At seven thirty they climbed into the cab, and the click of Sam’s seat belt sounded absolute. Strap yourself in, kiddo. Who knows where the fuck you’ll end up.
As the driver wound them through the dusky streets, Mike took Sam’s hand across the backseat and squeezed it.
“Was that a nervous squeeze or an excited squeeze?” she asked.
“That was a thank-you squeeze.”
She smiled at that, and they settled into their own thoughts for the rest of the journey. When they reached their destination, Sam lingered as planned, taking her time counting out bills for the fare. It gave Mike a chance to enter the bar first and find himself a seat, so they could both warm up to the game and their roles, their separateness in this charade.
She thanked the driver and headed for the entrance, straightening the hem of her top and smoothing her hair. All those first-date jitters came back to her, and she was twenty-five again, thrilled and scared and hopeful.
An energetic Saturday din welcomed her as she pushed in the door – chatter and laughter, music. The bar felt like a sort of upscale dive – no frills, but lively and friendly, not too meat-markety. The crowd was mostly thirty– and fortysomethings, and Sam’s worries about feeling like an old lady among college students evaporated.
She caught the briefest glimpse of Mike, who’d found a seat at a small table near the door. It took all her willpower not to flash him a smile. Their game had begun, and the impulse was selfish – she was supposed to be getting “caught,” oblivious to his presence. As if she’d be able to forget for a second that his eyes were on her every move.
She headed for the bustling bar, and oh fuck, there he was.
Bern.
He’d told her what he’d be wearing, but it was his face she recognized. Funny how accurate her mental picture had been, based on only that one snapshot. She slowed to a halt, her stomach plummeting to her feet, the room feeling like an elevator with a snapped cable.
Be cool, kid. You’re a shameless slut tonight, and don’t you forget it.
She blew out a tense breath and kept on walking.
Bern’s picture had attracted her, but he was so much… more, in three dimensions. Even seated on a stool, she could tell he was big. Big and substantial, with long legs and a strong, handsome profile. His hair was as messy as in the photo, tucked behind his ears, black in the low light of the bar. That picture must have been taken at the height of summer, as his complexion was fairer than she’d expected. A modest beard covered his jaw, neither wild nor fussy. He looked rugged and capable, as though he’d just come from the woods, doing something obscenely manly. Or that was what Sam’s libido decided.
She swallowed, throat feeling thick. He was as sexy as any guy she’d covertly checked out during the girls-only cocktail dates, casting her fake flings. Sexier. A pang of pleasurable guilt warmed her skin.
Sexy and punctual.
Move aside, Nick.
Bern turned as she approached, and she thrilled at the recognition that flashed across his face. His smile was the perfect mix of mischief and shyness, so exactly what she felt, herself.
There were no free stools, giving Bern a chance to bank some chivalry points and kick off his role as smooth-talking, seductive stranger. He stood as she reached the bar. Sam kept her attention on the taps as though she were deliberating.
“Here,” he said, patting the stool.
“Are you sure?”
“Please.” He grabbed his half-drunk glass of beer and stepped back so she could have a seat. She sat with her back to the bar, crossing her legs. Just as her single self might’ve done if a handsome, actual stranger approached her, she kept her purse in her lap to camouflage any unflattering business her snug jeans might be doing to her belly. Huh. Twenty-five again, indeed. She hadn’t felt this self-conscious in years.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” Oh, he was tall. Taller than her husband, perhaps six-two to Mike’s five-eleven, meeting one point of his criteria. As promised, he wore a plain gray T-shirt, and beneath it she could make out the contours of his chest and shoulders, trim and powerful as his bare arms. She liked the soft-looking hair there, the shapes of the fingers wrapped around his glass.
I could totally bang this guy if I wanted. Crazy. And did she want that? For herself, as much as for Mike…?
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“Sure. Cabernet, please.”
He came close, leaning between her and the next seat to get the bartender’s attention. She studied the silver streaked at his temples and peppering his facial hair and nearly swooned right off her perch. His eyes were blue, but not bright like Mike’s. More a stormy sea than a summer sky. Breathing him in, she found no cologne, just the faint but distinct smell of a new man, a scent you couldn’t buy at Sephora. He ordered her wine and told the bartender to add it to his tab, his voice twice as rich and deep and thrilling as it had been on the phone.
For a split second Sam felt busted, realizing Mike was watching her checking Bern out. But busted was the name of the game.
Bern passed her a dangerously large glass of red and stepped back, tucking a thumb in his front pocket and sipping his beer. His thigh was only a couple of inches from her crossed knees, and she wondered how warm he’d feel through their two pairs of jeans.
“On your own tonight?” he asked.
She nodded. “You, too?”
“Yeah. My name’s Bern.” He freed his hand to shake hers. And what a shake – firm and warm and solid. She wished Mike could have felt it, too. Meet the man I might just want to fuck while you watch.
“I’m Samira. Sam’s fine.” And she stalled.
Oh shit, what were they going to talk about? But wait, they had plenty to talk about. It wasn’t as though Mike could read lips. They were free to drop the act and he’d still get to pretend they were just meeting.
She offered Bern a familiar smile. “Are you nervous?”
His posture changed, visibly relaxing, and he smiled back. The gesture made him an entirely different kind of sexy. The warm and easy kind of man that you wanted sitting across from you at a diner, versus the wicked one you wanted to take you home from a bar. “A little nervous,” he admitted. “How about you?”
She nodded. “I was terrified, up until I saw you.”
“Worried that photo was from the seventies and I was really some retiree with no teeth and overgrown fingernails?”
“Well, no, but you know… Anyway. You’re a very pleasant surprise.” A very, very, very pleasant surprise.
“So are you. You’re even cuter when you’re not blurry.”
She laughed. “I hope you hadn’t worried I was trying to hide anything. I just didn’t want to use a photo that anyone could pick me out of a lineup from.”
“Of course.”
He stepped closer so they could talk without being overheard in the din, and his leg brushed hers, sending a bolt of energy up her thigh to settle in her belly.
“I’m guessing you’re not from Pittsburgh any more than I am,” she said.
He laughed softly, a warm, airy chuckle that raised the bar’s temperature by five degrees. “Whatever gave me away? But you’re right – I’m from Kentucky. Raised in a tiny little farm town about halfway between Louisville and Nashville.”
“That must’ve been a culture shock, when you moved.”
“At first, but I love it here. I’ve always been a city boy at heart.”
“I bet I wouldn’t last an hour out in the country… Thanks for coming out of your way,” she added.
He waved the thought aside as he took a taste of his beer. “Drive took me ten minutes. And I’ll say this – you’re the most interesting date I’ve had in ages.”
“I’ll bet. Have you not met anyone for what you’d gone on that site for, originally?” she asked, meaning his exhibitionist streak.
“I quit looking, after you and I started talking. It was getting discouraging. There’s so few women on there, looking for that kind of thing. And I didn’t even really know how to roll it out without sounding like a perv. I think it’s sort of a lost cause. I got a hundred and one replies from so-called women, wanting to watch me… you know. On a webcam. But I wasn’t born yesterday.”
She frowned her sympathy. “You’d probably have better luck finding an open-minded steady girlfriend.”
“I know. But I ended a long-term thing this past winter. Not really ready for anything serious yet.”
Another point for Bern, that he’d had a grown-up, normal-person relationship. More proof that he was just as new to all this kinky stuff as they were.
Still, the topic wasn’t spurring their chemistry, and she knew there was a man sitting ten yards away, who was itching to see some physical boundaries bent. And they were hers to bend, as Bern couldn’t be expected to make the first move, not with somebody’s husband watching him.
So Sam uncrossed her legs, letting the instep of her high heel brush his calf.
He took the hint and stepped closer, his knees just breaching the V of her thighs.
Intruder, she beamed to Mike. Intruder between your wife’s legs. However barely.
Bern stooped a little to say, “I’m not nervous at all anymore.” His tone was dark, not particularly innocent. The shadow of a smile played just behind his lips, and Sam imagined kissing him. She could now, if she wanted to. He wanted it, she thought, and her body did as well. It was only her brain that needed a push. She took a deep swallow of her wine.
“I’m still a little nervous,” she admitted. “But it’s nice.”
“Tell me about yourself.” He spoke the words as though they were far more scandalous ones. Ones like, I can’t wait to get you home and bury my cock inside you. He was doing just as she’d asked: making this look as tawdry as possible for their one-man audience.
Boldly, she put her fingertips on his side, as though he’d just suggested something sinful. Ooh, firm. “What would you like to know?”
“Job?” he asked, switching his beer to the other hand so he could settle his cold fingers over her warm ones and press her palm flat against him. She rubbed him with her thumb, and something about the soft cotton or the hard muscle shot straight to her sex.
She cleared her throat. “I’m an actuary.”
“That’s something to do with insurance, right?” The slow, easy way he said it… God help her. He could probably read her the obituaries and she’d still get all itchy with want.
“Something, yeah. It’s exceedingly dull to anyone who doesn’t like numbers and statistics.” She bit her lip coyly, hoping the move didn’t look cheesy.
“But you do?” he prompted. “Like numbers and statistics?”
“I do. I like finding patterns and interpreting data. I was also captain of my high school math team. Are you turned on yet?”
He grinned, and it transformed his face. He smiled with one side of his mouth more than the other, making him seem at once friendly and unsavory, like a con man. “I think I just came.”
Sam laughed, then took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste, watching the garnet liquid swirl in her glass before she raised her chin to look him in the eyes. “What about you? What do you do, Bern Davies?”
“I’m an electrician.”
She blinked. “Really?”
He nodded. “Large-scale commercial stuff. I work for a contracting outfit that does office and retail renovations and refurbs.”
“Well, you’re in the right city for that. And I guess that means I can’t ask you to come over to fix how the lights go dim in my apartment when the microwave’s on high.”
He licked his lower lip. “I’d prefer to be asked over to tend to more interesting tasks. Though while I’m there, I guess I could take a look.”
Just then, the man seated next to Sam was greeted by a friend or date. “Here,” Sam said, and offered her stool. It was a perfect opportunity to move their talk a bit farther from the crowd at the bar. To remind herself how tall Bern was, and to give Mike a better view of that fact.
They relocated, and she leaned against the wall beside the jukebox. She forced her eyes not to seek Mike, though her peripheral vision told her exactly where he was and how perfect a vantage point he had. Bern took her cue, standing close enough for the toes of their shoes to touch, his black leather ones flirting with her pointy-toed heels. She imagined the items jumbled together on the bedroom carpet, her and Bern jumbled together across the comforter.
“You know, you never answered my question from the first e-mail,” he murmured.
She dredged the memory but came up short. “Which question was that?”
“About what your husband gets out of this whole… arrangement.”
“Oh, right.”
Again, that mischievous smile curled his lips. His head dipped only a few centimeters, yet the move seemed to cast her in a shadow, a similar darkness passing over his expression. “So what’s in it for him?”
“Well, I honestly can’t explain it much better than he could. He’s not a weak man at all, and he’s really assertive in every other aspect of his life. But he’s got an incredibly high-pressure job, and for some reason, the fantasies seem to take him out of all that. I think deep down, his worst fear is that he’s going to fail, that he’s not man enough. He’s going to find out he’s not the alpha dog and then he’ll get torn apart by the rest of the pack. So when we pretend he’s not capable of keeping me faithful or pleasing me in bed, that’s him confronting his deepest fear. But also living through it, so it loses its power over him. And for whatever reason, it turns his crank.”
“Wow.” Bern blinked, staring at the wall above her shoulder. “That’s fucking interesting.”
She smiled. “Isn’t it? Took me ages to feel like I understood it. And he doesn’t really feel like he understands it at all. But it resets something in him when he’s feeling really stressed from work, and it turns him on like nothing else does. Like it opens up some vein of naturally occurring Ecstasy in his brain.”
“Can’t argue with that. That’s what the idea of having someone watch does to me.”
“And I think… I dunno, I think there’s another side to it. A way different side, where he’s actually really smug and full of himself.”
“Oh?”
Sam felt herself blushing, unsure about sharing the thought, as she had no clue how attracted to her Bern might really be. But she decided to trust all the cues his body was offering hers. “Yeah. He thinks I’m… He thinks I’m really sexy, so there’s some part of him that likes the idea of another guy getting to enjoy me for an evening, all the while knowing that he’s the one who gets to keep me.”
After a thoughtful pause, Bern grinned. “That may be the sweetest, filthiest, most fucked-up thing I’ve ever heard.”
Sam laughed. “That’s my husband. Sweet and filthy. I think also… You know when you first meet a girl, but she’s not your girlfriend yet? There’s some kind of competitive drive, keeping you on edge. Whatever chemical’s happening there, I think that’s part of it, too. If he pretends other men still have a chance with me, or could take me away, he gets a hit of some aggressive male hormone.”
“Nice that he doesn’t take you for granted, I guess.”
“No, definitely not.”
“And he’s watching us right now, right?” She could tell from Bern’s tone, the idea excited him. His voice had the nervous, giddy edge of a kid hoping they were getting away with something.
“He is. But I’m not supposed to ‘spot’ him. Though if he weren’t liking what he saw, he’d have let me know by now.”
“Well.” Bern was dying to crane his neck and find out who the mystery voyeur was, she could sense it.
“Don’t look,” she warned. “We’re doing such a convincing job so far.”
He leaned a little closer and there was that smell again – that personal scent more alluring than any clandestine cologne sample. He might only be coming so close to be compliant, following her and Mike’s script, but she felt a selfish thrill from his mere proximity. She reveled in the heat coming off his big body, could practically feel his weight on top of her.
“So what’s in it for you?” he asked.
She sipped her drink, stumped by the question. She’d never bothered posing it to herself. “Well, it’s his kink more than mine. So the first reason is to treat him. But he’s never pressured me to take it this far – I was the one who proposed all this. I guess what I get out of it is the pleasure of blowing his mind.”
“Wow.”
“It took a while for us to wind up here, believe me. Took a long time to trust that it really was something my husband wanted, that he wouldn’t regret it and end up resenting me, or that I’d end up feeling guilty, worried I’d done something I could never take back. Or resenting him for getting me to do something I never really wanted for myself.”
“But now you think maybe you might want it? For yourself?”
She studied him openly, her gaze skimming from his eyes to his throat, down his torso, and back up his gorgeous arms. Her logical brain didn’t have a ready answer to that question, but her body chimed in. “Yes, I think I just might.”
Mike’s head was so flooded with conflicting chemicals, he feared he might actually pass out.
Adrenaline, as his possessive instincts begged him to cross the floor and staple the guy’s throat to the wall with his hand. It blended with some secretion from his kink gland to create the most violent, maddening testosterone, the stuff snaking like lava through his veins, sending blood to his cock and heat to his chest. All the primal male switches inside him were flipped on, all the valves open. Made him want to fight and fuck and scream and come, all at once.
His brain and body were on fire, and it felt fucking phenomenal.
He sipped his beer, breathing deeply, trying to get used to the scene. It was what he’d been wanting in theory for months, and the pleasure was brutal. The jealousy was different with an actual, real man triggering it, and with his wife allowing the kind of contact he’d only ever fantasized about. Because he’d always trusted her implicitly.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t angry at her, standing so close to this other man, smiling and laughing, acting as though she weren’t married. His rational brain reminded his primitive one that she was doing this for him, and after ten minutes or more, the truth of it solidified and he felt the aggression disperse, eaten up by the excitement.
The reality of this situation turned him on more than he’d even hoped it might, and that frightened him.
It was his kink, not Sam’s, so if he felt this conflicted, how must this feel to her?
She didn’t look conflicted. If her piqued reception to that man’s flirting was merely an act, she’d sweep the Oscars.
Jealousy stirred his cock, to see her looking at another man that way. Those wry smiles had been his for the past five years, only his. That lip bite. That focused attention. The instincts kept flip-flopping in his head, but one thing was constant – the pounding erection between his thighs.
The guy was perfect. Tall, handsome, easygoing. His hair was dark, his face unshaven. Anything that created a contrast between him and Mike was a plus. Though the sentiment caught like a splinter in his heart, Mike hoped the attraction Sam was exhibiting was a hundred percent real.
But Jesus, he was in over his head, treading water to keep from drowning in all these feelings. Jealousy, rage, fear.
But no, don’t focus on the bad stuff. Surrender to the physical sensations, and never mind labeling them. She was doing all this for him, and it’d be a waste to everyone involved if he held himself back from enjoying it.
