Текст книги "Crosstown Crush"

Автор книги: Cara McKenna

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

So when the waitress came around, Mike ordered a whiskey on the rocks and settled into the warmth it opened in him, settled into the buzz of the bar. Settled into the fire pumping through his veins at the sight of his wife laughing at another man’s joke, the casual touch of familiar fingers on a stranger’s arm.

I want to kill that cocksucker, Mike thought.

But I want to watch him fuck Sam about ten times worse.

CHAPTER FIVE

Samira couldn’t say which was more drunk-making – the wine or Bern.

Or the fact that Mike hadn’t given her the signal, implying that he must be cool with what was happening.

Sam was cool with it. Hell, she was hot from it.

She hadn’t expected that. She’d come here hoping for a signal that she could do this, for Mike, expecting the pleasure she might take from the experiment would come mainly from blowing his mind. Before finding herself at this moment, she’d been hoping to maybe feel intrigued by Bern, or at least receptive to the idea of sleeping with him. She’d been hoping for a lack of misgiving. Never had she thought she’d get this turned on. Yet here she was, a little weak and a little warm from this new man.

They were still standing by the wall, and no one was near enough to overhear what they said. Still Bern leaned close, speaking in private tones that made even mundane facts sound like seduction. He told her about his dog; his work-in-progress Colonial in Carrick that he was fixing up; how he liked to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity a couple of times a year, wiring new and repurposed homes for low-income families. Between that hushed, deep voice, that sweet-dirty accent, and those penetrating eyes, the words streamed into Sam’s ears and her overheated brain translated them through the filter of his body language.

I can’t wait to fuck you.

You won’t believe how thick my cock is.

I’m gonna make you scream my name in your husband’s bed.

“But it could be worse,” he was saying, and Sam had completely lost the thread of the conversation. Her gaze had dropped to his arm, flexed from holding his beer. This must be the inverted version of the hazard men ran into all the time, trying to speak to women with deep cleavage.

She nodded, hauling her attention a couple of feet higher, to his face.

He laughed. “I’m totally boring you, aren’t I?”

“No, no. Sorry.”

“Tired?”

She smiled. “I was thinking about sex, actually. Wine does that to me.” So do tall strangers with pleasantly shaped shoulders, it would seem.

Was that a blush behind his stubble? “Well.”

She sipped her drink, trying to hide her persistent smile.

“Does that mean I stand a chance?” he asked.

The question had her standing up straighter, the knowledge that he must be as into this as she was flooding her equally with pride and nerves. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met you. I didn’t know if I’d be a little attracted to you and maybe willing to round it up for the sake of the mission… but even if I’d gotten my hopes way up, you’d have surpassed them.”

His expression brightened. “Really?”

She nodded. “I think you’re very handsome. Even handsomer than the picture you sent. And I spent a lot of time looking at that picture and warning myself not to get my hopes up too high that you’d look like that in person.”

“Well. Good.” He squinted dramatically. “You’re not as out of focus as you’d led me to believe, but you’re still passable.”

She swatted his arm, faking offense. “Wow, thanks.”

His tongue flirted with the corner of his lips just a moment, the heat in his eyes going from warm to downright scorching. “I think you’re incredibly sexy. Way sexier than I’d let myself expect you might be.”

She flushed with relief. “Good. We’re on the same page, then.”

“So you think there’ll be a second date, or whatever this is?”

“That’s entirely up to my husband, but I’d like to.”

Sam took a moment to assess what she was feeling, making sure she was lust-drunk, not plain old wine-drunk. Nope, this high was all Bern. Bern, and Mike’s unseen, watching eyes. She put her hand to his side again, loving the heat of him, the feeling of trim muscle shifting softly under her palm. Again, he laid his own hand over hers, fingers rubbing her knuckles. He tapped her glass with his, a little toast to celebrate that the attraction was mutual, perhaps.

“So if it does happen,” he asked, “it’ll be at your place, right? Or a hotel…?”

“Our place. In our bed.”

“Ah, of course.” She sensed another blush behind that stubble, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his lips were darker, fuller. Her own felt the same. “And when would I actually get introduced to him?” he asked.

“You know, I’m not sure. I’m not actually sure you do, not until he ‘catches’ us. Though if that’s not okay with you, we can figure something out.”

“I think I’m down with whatever you guys have planned. Just curious. Part of me thinks it’s pretty low, getting with some guy’s wife without even shaking his hand… Then another part remembers the whole thing’s sort of fucked, so why worry about the etiquette?”

“He wants realism,” she said. “So the more mysterious and impersonal you stay to him, the better.”

“Sure. You know, for all I know, you’re actually a single woman with a pretty crazy kink of her own.”

Sam laughed. “That’d be a twist, huh? But I assure you my husband’s very real, and very much watching us.”

“Can I ask you some more personal stuff?” Bern leaned in closer as he said it, and Sam suddenly wanted to taste the beer on his lips.

She stroked his side through his shirt, tempted to touch his chest, his belly, but not finding the nerve. “Go right ahead.”

“I’m not real set in my ways, sex-wise. And I know this is like a performance for him, basically. Like live-action, made-to-order, designer pornography.”

She nodded, struck by the aptness of that analogy. “Yes, I’d say that’s exactly what it is.”

“What sort of sex do you think he wants us to have?”

“Well, obscenely hot sex. Sex for an audience.”

“Showmanship?”

She laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. It doesn’t have to be a porno-level performance, completely overdone and corny. But dirty talk, for sure. He’ll want a lot of that. A lot of me talking about how good you are, and how… you know. How big you are, and how much better you are at sex than anyone I’ve ever been with.”

“This is going to be great for my ego.”

“Think you can do that? The talking? Ideally you’d be really smug and kind of a jerk, and make me tell you how much better you are.”

“I bet I could. I’m not inhibited. Not that I’ve ever done it with anybody’s man watching… but yeah. I can be a cocky asshole. Short of actually making you feel, I dunno – demeaned.”

Sam smiled. “A lot of women would feel demeaned by the entire arrangement.”

“But not you?” Worry drew his eyebrows together.

She shook her head. “Like I said, I was the one who offered to make it real. Before now, it’s all been games.”

Concern gave way to curiosity. “Oh? How so?”

“I go out with a girlfriend after work, come home late, making excuses. That sort of thing. He accuses, I ‘confess.’ ”

“Turbo-charged sex ensues?” Bern supplied.

“Pretty much, and during it I tell him all about the made-up guy. Now, if you become a part of it, he gets to watch it for real, instead of just imagining. So make a big deal of yourself, if that makes sense.”

He smiled, the gesture warm and a touch confounded. “Makes as much sense as anything else about this proposal.”

Neither spoke for a long moment, their gazes flicking across each other’s faces. In that silence, Sam fell into a little trance, awed to realize she might do things with this man. Touch him. Kiss him. Have sex with him and explore the beautiful body promised by his fitted tee. She could imagine so easily having encountered him under innocent circumstances, at this same bar, out with a friend. This tall, handsome man with a low, soft voice and that sinful drawl. He could have offered her a drink, and she’d have told him thanks but no thanks and flashed her wedding ring, and felt all flattery, no regret. And maybe later she’d have remembered him as she walked home, and bitten her lip, indulging in a moment’s guilty pleasure, imagining what he might have been like in bed.

But they were beyond imagining now.

And with that thought, this mission changed. Before, her pleasure had been Mike’s. Now she felt a desire separate from his kink, a current wired directly between her body and Bern’s.

“Are we allowed to kiss?” he asked.

Cheeks burning with pleasure, Sam nodded and slid her hand farther around his side. She heard the little thud as he set his beer on the jukebox, then his mouth was lowering, closer, closer. A hot, thrilling sensation squirmed in her middle, and she hoped Mike was feeling this same pleasurable agitation. Then Bern’s mouth brushed hers, soft and uncertain. Big fingers, cool from his glass, touched her jaw, and he pressed his lips to hers.

She heard and felt a soft sigh escape his nose to warm her own, and she tilted her head.

You’re kissing a man. And he’s not Mike. Guilt and excitement mingled, a potent mix.

Yes, she was kissing a man, and he felt so different. Unnatural, but not in a bad way. His lips were soft and a touch hesitant, but he hadn’t spent the past five years getting trained in the art of kissing Sam as her husband had. If Bern made it to their bedroom, he’d be playing the role of the self-assured, gruff jerk. Let him be uncertain here. This was the time and place for doubt.

Though, strangely, Sam felt none, herself.

No tap on the shoulder or clearing of a throat stopped them, so after half a minute she trusted that Mike was enjoying the show, and she joined the kiss for real. She slid her hand up Bern’s ribs and over his chest – firm and warm. She laid her palm on his throat and kissed him back, showing him what she liked. He was a quick learner, and his respectful contact changed, mouth growing bold.

She stroked his jaw, wanting to feel his beard. She’d dated a guy with a goatee during grad school, but she’d long forgotten this soft scratchiness after all her years with Mike.

Bern tasted different as well, nothing to do with his beer. His skin would taste different, his sex would smell different, his sweat, his come… Her pussy tightened, intimate muscles clenching at the notion.

She wondered then how Bern was supposed to treat her.

Not as though he was in love with her, surely. Not unaffectionate, but not overly fond. Maybe even a touch callous. She didn’t think there was room in Mike’s fantasies for mutual respect, for kind smiles and caring. Bern wasn’t meant to treat her poorly, but he was supposed to defile her, essentially. He had to both worship and use her, and this kiss felt like neither of those verbs. It felt sexy and exploratory, borderline romantic. But for now, that was okay. The mere fact that a strange man was kissing her ought to fit the bill for this first outing.

Bern’s tongue slid against hers, sure and brazen. It told her, yes, he could do this. He could drive if they gave him the keys, and she’d be more than a willing passenger – she might just be an eager one. If they weren’t at a bar, in plain sight of the entire room, she wondered what she’d do. More than she would have guessed. She might even slide her palm down his front and cup him between his legs, and find out if he met Mike’s most key criterion.

His fingertips pressed softly at her jugular for a couple of heartbeats; then he pulled away, straightening. He made a funny little noise, a whew, like he was overheating, then grabbed his beer and took a long drink. Sam smiled and sipped her wine.

He leaned an arm along the top of the jukebox, his posture at once matching his accent: pure, casual charisma. When he spoke, it sounded as though lust had dropped his voice half an octave. “Well, I didn’t notice anybody punching me in the head, so I guess your man approves, huh?”

“I’m assuming so.”

“That was…”

She waited patiently, wondering what adjective Bern would find.

“That was something,” he finished.

She smirked. “Just ‘something’?”

“If we were on an actual date, that would’ve been hot. I mean, it was hot, just with a shadow looming over it.”

“While you waited to see if you’d get punched in the head?”

“Pretty much.”

“Will it be hotter if there’s a next time, with you knowing there’s no punch coming?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it would be. Though the threat wasn’t without its own weird appeal.”

She laughed. “Do you think you’d like there to be a next time, if my husband’s up for it?”

He looked thoughtful as he sipped his beer. “I would. What would the next step be?”

“It’d probably start like tonight, you and me meeting and having a drink, but then I’d bring you home. I don’t want to go super far the first time, but you know. Mess around. Third-base-type stuff, or whatever feels natural.”

“Where would he be?” Bern asked.

“He’d be at the bar, watching like tonight, then head home before us. We have a bathroom off our bedroom. He’d watch from there with the door cracked, with us pretending we don’t know he’s there.”

“Huh.” Another long, pensive stare into the middle distance.

“You don’t have to commit right now, of course. And obviously I have to talk to him first.”

“I want to say I’m up for it… I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow, and right now I’m jacked up on adrenaline, so it’s hard to be sure. Maybe we can all think about it for a couple of days, make sure we’re all still into it.”

“Would you like me to let you make the next move?” she asked.

“If you guys know right away you want to take it further, go ahead and let me know. Please. That’ll make my decision way easier.”

“Okay, I will. And vice versa. If you know right away, feel free to tell us.”

“Deal.”

Sam drained her wine and Bern asked, “Can I walk you to your car, or…?”

“We took a cab. We weren’t sure how tipsy we’d need to get to make it through this evening.”

Bern laughed and nodded at her empty glass. “Hey, only one round. Guess I don’t require the thickest beer goggles.”

She smiled. “No, you were a very pleasant surprise.”

“So were you. And a cheap date to boot.”

“Cheaper than you know – I’m paying the tab.”

“No way. That’ll wreck the perfect job we’ve done, making it look like I’m wooing you.”

She made a face, hesitating.

“Come on. You’ve got to let me pay. Plus, it’s not like I’m some saintly sex surrogate in all this. There’s as much in this for me as there is for you both.”

Weird, but Sam hadn’t thought of it that way. She wanted to please Mike so much, had gotten her hopes up so high and was so relieved by the reality of Bern, she felt as though he were doing them a favor. That he needed to be thanked profusely. Like they’d hired him.

But of course he got something out of this. He’d answered their post for a bull, but they could easily have answered his request for an audience. She smiled to herself, excited by the prospect of realizing two men’s sexual fantasies in one fell swoop. As for Sam, she’d be given a taste of forbidden male fruit, something she’d forfeited happily enough when she’d said I do. Hopefully she’d be getting pleasure, if Bern was as good in bed as she was prepared to pretend he was.

She touched his arm, a grateful gesture. If they went through with all this, they’d become quite a few things to one another – conspirators. Partners in orchestrating Mike’s fantasy. Lovers, of course. Friends, it was starting to feel like to Sam, though not of the simplest variety.

After Bern settled the tab, she asked, “Would you walk me out? My husband and I are going to take separate cabs on the way back… You know, part of the role-playing. I want it to look like you’re taking me home.”

“Of course.” Proving himself the consummate acting partner, Bern offered his arm and a cocky smile. She had to glue her eyes to the door with all her will to keep from looking at Mike, barely ten feet to the left in her periphery, but she managed it.

Sam called for a cab. The cool spring air and relative quiet enveloped them, and everything felt very different. More real, more delicate. She realized in a breath, she had her hopes up for all of this to work out. It made her vulnerable, the feeling of going on a date with a wonderful man and praying he’ll call you back, that he’ll like you back, but not wanting to float too high above the earth, only to crash back down if he didn’t reciprocate.

She felt something else, too – guilt.

Not from what she’d done inside, but what she was doing now. It seemed selfish to still be linked to this new man’s arm once their performance had wrapped. If Mike couldn’t see it, who was it for? If it was for Sam or Bern or both of them, was that okay? Where did the kink end and actual adultery begin? Those delineations were Mike’s to draw, and without him watching she felt uncomfortable enjoying Bern’s company. She slid her arm from his.

“You can head home, or wherever,” she said. “My cab should be here soon.”

“Then what? He finds one of his own?”

She nodded. “I’ll text him, tell him I’m running late, waste enough time that he can beat me home. We’ll pretend I kept him up waiting while I was out flirting with you.”

He smiled. “I am so jealous of whatever totally fucked-up sex you two are going to have when you get home.”

She laughed. “Thank you. If all goes well, maybe you’ll get to partake someday. Oh, and thanks for the drink.”

“No problem. Hope to hear from you soon.” He didn’t kiss her good-bye but laid a hand on her upper arm and gave it a friendly, gentle squeeze, one that left goose bumps in its wake. “Take care.”

“You, too.”

Sam watched him stroll to a pickup truck and climb inside. He lowered his window to prop his elbow on the door, and she returned his lazy wave and watched him pull onto the quiet street.

A long, ragged, loaded breath tumbled from her lungs when he finally turned out of sight.

Her cab arrived shortly. Sorry, I’m running late, she texted Mike from the backseat. On my way now, I promise. Home in 30. She was still role-playing, and she could swear her heart beat a million times while she waited for his reply, terrified he’d hated every moment of the bar, that he was angry and disappointed and traumatized by the realization of his kink.

Her phone buzzed. She pressed the little green word-bubble icon with a shaking thumb, held her breath as she read Mike’s text.

Just getting into bed. Come home soon. Please.

His lie flooded her with relief, telling her where his head was.

She’d have the cab take her to their neighborhood’s wine and spirits store, then browse long enough to be sure Mike beat her home, as they’d planned. He’d be under the covers when she got in, acting as though he’d been there for ages while she was out. He’d interrogate her as she undressed and she’d deny, deny, deny, then finally fess up. She’d tell him every nasty thought she’d entertained about Bern since she’d shaken his hand, and no doubt come up with some new ones while she and Mike fucked.

Then she imagined Bern’s hand in another context. Her brain took a stab at picturing him alone, back in his bed, stroking to the thought of her and Mike watching him. The vision drew her breath short and tensed her legs. She’d conjure it again in an hour when Mike reclaimed her.

She smirked to herself, watching the lights of Pittsburgh streaking past the windows. The city felt vibrant and colorful as they drove through downtown, its streets like throbbing veins delivering life.

Tonight she’d altered the bounds of her marriage forever, and there was no going back. They’d made a crease that could never be ironed out, and more were likely to come. Folds, turning pretty paper into origami, shapes emerging, seam by seam, his instructions, her hands, two dimensions becoming three.

They might end up with a perfect swan or a torn and crumpled wad, but either way, they’d find out together.

CHAPTER SIX

The front door bolt snapped downstairs, and Mike hastily set aside the book he’d been browsing. Or rather, the book whose pages he’d been staring at while his brain buzzed with memories and fantasies and conflicting thoughts.

He left on the light but turned onto his side, pretending to have nodded off. He listened to soft sounds below in the kitchen, then the guest bathroom. He wondered what, if any, accessories Sam would add tonight – a taste of latex between her legs or the slick evidence of lube, something to deepen the erotic, electric jealousy already sizzling in Mike’s body.

Her heels clicked down the hall and up the stairs. The floorboard squeaked, then her steps went silent as she entered their carpeted bedroom. Mike sat up and leaned against the headboard, feigning bleariness. “There you are.”

A faint smile, its guilt pure pantomime, he trusted. “Here I am.”

“That must have been some bridal shower,” he said, improvising.

She didn’t miss a beat. “You know how us girls get about that stuff. We ended up at a bar across town for cocktails.”

“But you had a good time?”

“Oh yeah, great time.” She yawned as she took off her necklace and kicked her heels beside the dresser. He admired her slim waist and lush hips as she shed her jeans and stripped away her shirt, ditched her bra, and pulled a long tank top over her head. It hid details Mike had long ago memorized – the mole just below her left butt cheek, the twin dimples above, the scar from her appendectomy. No man knew her body as well as he did, and no man ever would. Though perhaps one might enjoy the chance to take a tour.

“What did you get up to?” she finally asked, combing her fingers through her hair.

“Ordered Chinese, watched some TV. Read a bit, nodded off.”

“That sounds relaxing.”

“Would’ve preferred to spend my first real night of vacation with my wife.”

“Sorry, no boys allowed at bridal showers. No straight ones, anyhow.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, I’m bushed.” She tossed open her side of the covers and got underneath.

Mike settled next to her, stroking her arm. “I was kind of hoping… you know. We could kick off vacation week with some you-and-me time?”

“I’m really wiped out, honey. Sorry. Tomorrow, though. I promise.” She rolled onto her side, away from him.

Mike edged closer. There was no cologne tonight as a catalyst to spur their script forward. He ran his palm down her waist and settled it on her hip. “You sure I can’t change your mind?” He slid his hand forward to the front of her panties. She promptly pushed it away.

“Don’t,” she said, overly brusque.

“Why not?”

“I told you. I’m tired.”

“Can I maybe just touch you while I get myself off?” He edged his fingers under her waistband and she pretended to try to pull his hand away. His fingertips found her wet. Condemningly wet. Good girl.

“Well,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“You sure you don’t want to? Feels like you do.” He took his fingers back and put them to his lips as she watched, tasting the bitterness of latex and lubricant, just as he’d hoped. He frowned even as his cock pounded, and he made his voice stern and cold. “Sam.”

Her eyes were wide with fake fear or innocence. “What?”

“Who was he?”

“Who was who?”

“Who do you think? The guy you clearly fucked tonight.”

Her mouth opened and closed, then she slumped in defeat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it? Do our vows not matter, either, then?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “I just met him. At the bar, and all the girls were heading home. He bought me a glass of wine.” And fuck, Mike could picture that scene perfectly now. Picture the man, his rival.

She sighed. “I didn’t mean for anything to happen.”

“But something did. Again, Sam? Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Just a quickie, back at his place. Don’t be angry – it didn’t mean anything.”

“Means something to me. Your husband.” Mike dropped the anger from his tone, leaving only hurt in its place. He let her know that Act I was over, the accusation done. Time for Act II – humiliation.

“It won’t happen again, I promise. It was just one of those things. He was just… I couldn’t help it.”

“What’s his name?”

A pause. “Bern.”

Oh yes, Bern. It was nuts how much sharper the edges of Mike’s kink felt, just knowing she hadn’t made that name up. It cut him to ribbons, knowing exactly what the guy looked like, and exactly what he looked like flirting with Sam, standing between her knees. It made the jealousy and anger stronger, but it did the same to the pleasurable feelings, and his misgivings stood no chance of winning out.

Maybe he was a pervert or a head case, but goddamn, he wanted these things. He wanted her to fuck that man. Deep in his heart he feared their charade would become reality – she really would favor some stranger over Mike and he’d lose her. He’d lose her, and it wouldn’t be the actions of the cruel, heartless woman she pretended to be for him. He’d lose her to a man she liked more, and it’d be Mike who’d shoved her into his arms. He felt his cock soften. Sam sensed the change and she turned over, eyes full of sincerity and concern, their game paused.

“Mike?”

“Sorry. My head got the better of me for a second.”

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “The jealousy. It feels different when there’s an actual guy involved. Not night-and-day different, but more real. With way higher stakes.”

Her gaze dropped to his chin and she ran her fingertips along his collarbone. “You know I’d never actually leave you for some other guy, though, right?”

“My brain knows that, yeah.”

“I can only be honest with you… Tonight was a turn-on. He was a turn-on, and so was the thought of the three of us taking things into this room someday.”

Mike swallowed.

“But you know what else was hot about it?”

“What?”

“Knowing you were watching. And thinking that what I was doing was getting you off. Thinking about how maybe taking things further would, like, blow your mind. You were right there in my head, as much of a part of it as he was. I was flirting with him, but I hoped it was driving you just as crazy.”

He smiled at that, all these things he’d needed to be told without even knowing what words could articulate them. There was nothing wrong with craving reassurance. He’d be inhuman if he didn’t need a little. He kissed her forehead. “Thanks. That’s nice to hear.”

“And, incidentally, you’re sexier than he is. He’s hot, but let’s be honest – you’re the man I married, and I didn’t settle.”

“Good.”

She stroked his chest and arm, hands admiring in their familiar, flattering way. Her brown eyes met his. “You feel like making regular old married-people love? Just you and me and nobody else?”

Just Sam, he thought, kissing her lips. He ought to let her know more often, she was enough, without their games. She was plenty. She was a feast.

“I’d like that very much, Mrs. Heyer.”