Текст книги "Crosstown Crush"
Автор книги: Cara McKenna
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bern woke late on Sunday, finally dragged from his sheets by the plaintive whining of his dog.
“You’re spreading it a bit thick with those pathetic eyes,” he told her, pulling jeans up his legs and finding a clean shirt. After a pit stop he laced his sneakers, grabbed Molly’s leash, locked the door behind them, and headed for the park.
The day was cheerful¸ the air springy, the sun warm and watery behind a thin wash of clouds. The city felt worlds away from the place he’d shut his door on the night before, everything feeling fresh and… innocent. Kids playing, moms chatting, fellow dog owners standing around patiently with their plastic baggies.
Innocent, unlike Sam and her indecent proposal.
It was too soon after waking for him to get all horny about the idea, but there was a noticeable lack of misgiving in Bern’s brain and gut.
He wanted the arrangement to go ahead. He didn’t want to get wound up fantasizing about it, in case Sam or her husband decided to pull the plug. But his decision was made. He’d ended a relationship because he hadn’t felt satisfied sexually. It had been a hard decision, breaking up with someone over sex. Sex wasn’t everything. Sex mellowed in any relationship… though with them, it had never truly blazed, no matter how much he’d tried to stoke it. His ex probably thought he was a world-class shit, and maybe justifiably so, but something inside Bern had always been nagging, simmering, begging him to unleash it. After three years together, he’d had two choices with his ex – break up or propose. And he’d known he couldn’t sign up to spend the rest of his life feeling like his needs were being only half met. That he was only really getting to be a watered-down version of who he wanted to be in bed.
He pulled out his phone and found Sam’s number, then paused. Would it be weird to send his verdict as a text? Was an e-mail better, maybe, or was brevity key? Probably didn’t matter. They were all just digital words, and that was what the doctor ordered – a phone call, he felt, would be too intrusive. But was this too soon? Was it like a date, where he was supposed to wait a couple of days lest he look too eager?
Then, all at once, he decided he didn’t care.
Morning, he wrote. Just wanted to let you guys know I’m down for whatever might come next. Hope to hear from you sometime. Enjoy your Sunday. Bern.
He tossed the sometime in there, hoping it sounded casual, no pressure, whatever. Hoping he sounded casual, when really it felt like something substantial was riding on all this.
There was a chance that fulfilling his desire to be watched could blow the sex center of his brain clean open and change his life. That’s what kinks did to people, right? If falling into step with the thing that most turned your crank wasn’t crazy hot, crazy satisfying, why else would people take such crazy risks to scratch their itches? Trolling the adult personals had shown him his so-called kink was about as vanilla as they came. If people risked permanent scarring or arrest or death by asphyxiation to realize their fantasies, the payoff had to be worth it. He hoped he’d find out for himself. And he hoped Sam and her mysterious husband would find out, too.
He loitered for a few hopeful but ultimately fruitless minutes, in case an eager text came back from the ether to get his hopes up. But nothing. They might still be asleep.
They might have changed their minds. Jesus, he hoped not. Sam was gorgeous, and their kiss had driven him crazy. He wanted her, no doubt, and he wanted her husband watching. In Bern’s mind, someone was always watching. He needed that fantasy – those eyes on him – as truly as he needed friction.
So he jogged his dog around the park a few times, until both of them were panting. There was laundry to be done and groceries to buy, errands to run and his mom to call before the workweek intruded. He had to put Sam and her plans for him out of his mind, lest he catch himself checking his phone every two minutes like some kid with a terminal grade school crush. Even as he thought it, he pulled the device out, feeling a phantom call buzzing in his pocket.
Nope, nothing. Cool your jets, Davies.
Easier said than done.
“And you’re sure?” Sam asked, glancing from her phone’s screen to where Mike stood in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce. It was just after six, and she’d read that text so many times that day, she’d memorized every pixel.
He smiled dryly. “How many different ways can I say it? I’m sure. Go for it. See if he’s free some weeknight.”
“You don’t want more time to deliberate?” It had been less than twenty-four hours since their first meet-up, after all.
“No, I don’t. Do you?”
“No,” she admitted. She wanted this, Mike wanted it. Bern wanted it, so said the text that had woken her with a chime that very morning. “Okay.” Her heart was bouncing around between her ribs, hands shaking as she crossed the room and plopped onto the couch. She opened Bern’s message and hit REPLY.
“ ‘Hey,’ ” she dictated as she typed. “ ‘We’re up for taking things to the next level. Are you free some night this week? We’re on vacation, so anytime works for us.’ Sound okay? Not too desperate or creepy?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Right. And… sent.” She set the phone on the coffee table, chest clenching with who knew what emotion – fear, excitement, a touch of guilt.
Mike brought bowls of spaghetti to the breakfast bar and she got up to join him. He always ate standing up, on the other side of the counter, to make up for how much of his workdays were spent sitting in cars or in front of a computer.
“Thanks.” Sam twirled noodles on her fork, then promptly dropped the thing with a clank as her phone jingled. She looked to Mike with wide eyes.
“Go ahead.”
She pushed her stool back and jogged to her phone, a red numeral one staring at her from the corner of her message app. She opened the text as she sat down again.
“ ‘If you could meet up early, around six, I could do Wednesday or Thursday,’ ” she read. There was more – I’m not expected to sleep over, right? I work early, plus my dog has needs.
No, he wouldn’t be expected to stay the night. He was expected to love her and leave her. But Sam didn’t read that bit out loud, thinking she’d start keeping those boring logistical bits between herself and Bern.
“Either of those days work for me,” Mike said, spearing a slice of sausage.
“Let’s do Wednesday. Meet him at the same bar at six, then you beat us home so you can hide and watch?”
“Sounds good to me. How will you get back?”
“I could just let him drive me. If you’re comfortable with that.”
He gave it a moment’s consideration then nodded. “Sure.”
She tapped out a new text with the instructions, plus a note that no, Bern wasn’t expected to sleep over. They ate in near silent anticipation, interrupted by another cheerful chime.
Sounds like a plan. See you Wednesday at six, missus.
Mike cast her a curious glance.
She set the phone aside, faking nonchalance. “Nothing. No one.”
She caught a smirk flash across his face before he covered it with an imitation of skepticism.
“Just Michelle, asking if I wanted to meet her for dinner on Wednesday after work. No husbands allowed,” she added quickly – too quickly – and turned her attention wholeheartedly to her dinner, trying to look as evasive as possible.
“Oh. Okay.”
“You can live without me for a night, right?”
“I can… It’s not just one night, though, lately. You’ve been going out a lot —”
“It’s my vacation, too, you know,” she cut in. “And I can’t remember the last time I saw Michelle.” Actually it had been two years ago, right before Michelle had moved to Seattle. And what a good friend Michelle was! What a perfect, unsuspecting wingwoman for Sam and Mike’s deviant sexual escapades.
“Well,” he said heavily. “I’ll miss you that night. But girls’ time is important, I guess. Go out and have your fun.”
She smiled, feeling perfectly sinful. “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”
“Sam.” Bern stood from his seat at the bar and they shared a brief hug.
Just that little sample of his strong body had Sam’s humming. She stepped away, flushed, and rubbed his arm. “Hello, stranger.”
They weren’t strangers anymore, though – she could feel it in their embrace. She took in his scent and the shape of his body, and all the nerves she’d felt when she stepped through the bar’s front door disappeared. Bern right here before her, Mike somewhere behind her, watching. The two men had her blood pumping this hard, and damn, it was thrilling.
“Thanks for meeting me again,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”
He waved the offer away, and she realized what a silly idea it was. She may have orchestrated this evening, but she wasn’t its hostess. Bern was her official alpha male, and he must be allowed to lead. He was going to seduce her, hands firmly on the wheel.
“Cabernet, right?”
She remembered all her erstwhile fantasy men, all the drinks she’d pretended to have ordered for her. “You choose.”
The bartender came by and Bern gave him orders Sam couldn’t hear. She felt her eyebrows rise with some surprise when Bern handed her a glass of red wine.
He shrugged an apology. “I don’t really know anything about cocktails, sorry. I’d hate to order you something horrible.”
“This is perfect.” And it was. She sipped the dry red and it tasted how the evening felt, dark and ripe. Rousing. Familiar now, the taste of her would-be lover, here in their bar. This man who knew what she drank.
“Is he here?” The low hum of his deep voice warmed her blood as surely as the wine would.
She nodded. Bern may as well glimpse the man who could very well be watching them fool around by the end of the night. The man who was lending Sam out for Bern’s pleasure, essentially. “He’s at a table, to the left of the door. Black T-shirt.”
Bern’s gaze left her face a moment to search. He turned back, blinking madly. “Really?”
She smiled at that. “Really. Is he not what you’d expected?”
“He looks like what your ad was asking for.”
“Looks like,” she allowed. “But in his head, when we’re playing, he’s different.”
“Must be. He looks like a…” He stole another glance. “A bouncer.”
“He’s in law enforcement.”
Bern spoke through a laugh. “Fuck me.”
She grinned and took another sip. “That’s the idea.”
“Have a seat,” he said suddenly, but he didn’t join her. Sam sat with her back to the bar and Bern stood between her knees, like last time. But tonight she’d worn a dress – a plum-colored jersey A-line, nothing showstopping, yet it felt luxurious as her bare calf glanced Bern’s clothed one. A warm shiver trickled down her arms when she imagined him stepping forward, driving the fabric back, pressing himself hard against her center. She hoped Mike was watching, and that a similar thought had his cock growing heavy and hot, any pang twisting in his heart purely part of the game.
Bern spoke softly, leaning in so she could hear and making the air between them feel close and intimate. “So when you take me home tonight – or when I take you home to your place – how will it work? He leaves first so he can be ready to watch us?”
She nodded. “We’ve got a signal worked out. I’m supposed to put a specific song on the jukebox, and that’s his cue to head out.”
“What song?”
She grinned. “Springsteen. ‘I’m on Fire.’ ”
“A classic.”
“That song makes me shockingly easy,” she admitted.
“Good to know.”
She took a deeper swig of her drink, hot plumes inching through her veins in thick pulses. She needed a decent buzz for when the time came to leave with Bern, that chemical permission slip that let her ignore the troublesome voices trying to undermine her resolve. She was on the highest board, in her suit and goggles with the cameras poised to capture her dive. She’d be damned if she’d back out now… but that didn’t mean the jump should scare her any less.
Bern’s brows knitted. “Can I ask how long you’ve been married?”
“Together five years, married three.”
“What’s it like?” he asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“It’s very… reassuring. The more comfortable I get with him, the better I know myself. And the more I like myself.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is. It may not be terrifically thrilling, but it’s… It feels great, like a squishy old couch you can’t wait to sink into after a long day.” She laughed. “I’m not really making it sound very exciting, but I like it. I recommend it.”
“You don’t think it sounds exciting, being married to someone who wants to get up to crazy sex shit with you?” Bern asked in an elevated whisper.
“Oh, well, yeah, you’re right. I take it back. It is pretty exciting. I guess I was thinking more about lazy Sunday mornings.”
“Not lurid Wednesday nights, out picking up strange men?”
She raised her glass to that.
“Am I driving us later?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Nope, not at all. You worried about any neighbors spotting me, sneaking into your place?”
“Nah. You could easily just be a friend of ours.”
“A friend who shows up and suddenly there’s loud sex coming from your place ten minutes later?”
She laughed. “Ten minutes? A girl likes some wooing, you know. Aren’t you Southern men supposed to be all about the courting?”
“Okay, okay. Twelve minutes. Never let it be said I’m not a gentleman.”
She sipped her drink. “As for the loud sex, I can’t worry about what my neighbors might think. I can’t think too hard about any of this, or it’ll pull my head out of the… well, the performance.”
“That’s fair. Forget I mentioned it.”
“So, are you excited?”
“Of course I am.”
“Have you indulged your own kink at all before?” she asked quietly, gaze on the tempting V of skin and tease of soft-looking hair peeking between the two open top buttons of the navy henley he wore. Its collar was fine but she reached up to fuss with it, just for a chance to touch him. “Being watched?”
“No more than most people probably have, I guess. Mirrors. Video camera, a couple of times when I was younger, before the Internet made that seem like the worst idea in the world. But my ex got custody of that footage when we broke up, and I’m sure she destroyed it.”
“Probably wise. Have you ever – I don’t know – done it in front of an open window?”
“Not really. Well, once on vacation we did it on the hotel balcony, but it was night and I doubt anyone could see. I haven’t ever dated a girl who was into that stuff, and I’m not so obsessed with it that I made it a requirement.”
“Maybe you should. It’s really fun, being with someone kinky. I’m glad I am.”
He smiled. “That’s pretty charming of you. Though it seems like for every kinky or kink-friendly woman, there must be like fifty kinky guys. I think it’s important to be realistic. Though I do want to explore it more. I never really let myself prioritize it before. But all that got me was sexually frustrated, and feeling like an asshole for breaking up with perfectly nice girls who just couldn’t go there. And hadn’t known what I really wanted, from the start.”
“If it makes you feel any more hopeful,” she said, “your kink is pretty easy to accommodate. Just don’t fall in love with a girl with body image issues, and roll it out early on, and I’m sure you’ll at least enjoy tons of hot mirror sex.”
“Yeah. We’ll do our wedding registry at a home goods store – full-length mirror, ceiling mirror, mirrored headboard, one of those angled three-panel deals they have in dressing rooms…”
“Cheval,” she offered. “Magnifying? Hmm, maybe not.”
“Fun house.”
Sam dissolved into giggles from the visual. “That might give a girl body image issues.”
“But it’d make my man-business look huge.”
“Then tiny. Then huge, then tiny,” she teased, imagining the effect.
Bern cracked up, and had this been a regular date, it would have been the moment when Sam thought, I could really fall for this guy. As it was, it was the moment she relaxed in her mission and trusted her desires, and set her worries free for good.
“Okay, no fun-house mirrors,” Bern said. “Oh hey, you guys should invest in a one-way mirror, if you get good at this cuckolding thing. No more peering through door cracks.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be awesome to explain to a contractor when it goes in. Or our landlord.”
He made a disappointed face. “All the more reason to become homeowners.”
They chatted for a long time, long enough for Sam to have a second glass of wine and for Bern to finish nursing his one beer. Around seven she got change from the bartender and wandered to the jukebox, downloading the signal song from the digital catalog.
She had to wait through a few queued tracks, but when the synth of that familiar opening pulsed through the speakers, it felt as though all the lightbulbs turned red, the thermostat cranked to ninety. Somewhere by the door, Mike would be leaving bills on his table, heading out into the cool night air, climbing into her Focus, and taking the short way home.
Sam smiled as the song wound down, and Bern looked to be suppressing his own grin when she shrugged into her jacket and shouldered her purse. He held the door for her as they left.
“We should take a long route,” she said.
“Sure.” He unlocked her side of his truck’s cab. “Just get me pointed in the general direction.”
She told him the street and glanced around his vehicle as he got them on their way. Pretty tidy, though clearly he worked out of this truck. There were papers and bits of hardware scattered here and there, and a parking pass with the logo of a renovation company dangling from the rearview mirror.
It was a quiet drive. Not an uncomfortable silence, but pensive.
The curtain was about to go up, and they were two actors, holding their breath in anticipation of their opening night. Sam wanted to please her audience. She and Mike had settled on another signal, for when the actual show was under way. If the plug needed to get pulled, he’d simply flush the toilet. That was Bern’s cue to get his pants on and get the hell out, and Sam’s cue to start panicking over whether she and Mike had irreparably damaged their marriage.
She hoped she’d be able to enjoy whatever Bern had to offer without her ears being perked, straining for the swirling sounds of red alert, abort, abort. Her own excitement felt skittish – hopeful but hesitant. It was one thing to get turned on kissing a good-looking stranger in a bar. Who knew if she’d feel any of that once they were in Sam and Mike’s bedroom. In their bed. Christ, she hoped she would. This was starting to feel as though maybe it could be for her as much as it was for Mike. She’d gotten into it, eager to blow his mind. But since she’d kissed the man currently sitting just to her left, she’d started to think maybe she could go there, and as more than just a wildly indulgent partner. As a plain old red-blooded woman, too.
The silence began to feel heavy. She reminded herself of her role. Tonight she was a selfish, heartless, dissatisfied wife, and Bern was the man she’d chosen to bring home and have some much-needed fun with. She reached across the cup holders and set her hand on his thigh. He cast her a quick glance, swallowed, and smiled as he looked back to the road. She gave his leg a squeeze, liking the flex of his muscle as he switched between the gas and brake, the authoritative movements of his arm as he shifted gears. Was it just her, or did he seem to be driving a bit quicker all of a sudden?
In a heartbeat, Bern yanked up the curtains and flung them headfirst into their script. “And you’re sure he’s gone out?”
She fell into the game easily after all these months of practice. “He won’t be home for a couple of hours, at least.”
“Great.”
Her palm grew damp from the heat of his thigh, the truck’s cab at once smaller and warmer. She felt guilty flirting with Bern without Mike there to witness it… but it was all in the service of the performance, so she tried to set the guilt aside.
Dear God, how did people manage to actually cheat on each other?
Think about sex, she ordered herself. She stole a long glance at Bern, his profile stern with concentration as he drove… or stern with the effort of not steering them off the road, if her hand was proving a distraction. What might Mike be hoping to see them do tonight?
A big deal had to be made of Bern’s cock. That was a given. His sexual superiority was at the heart of the scene, so she’d be praising him profusely, for both his physical attributes and his skills at making her feel good. Was she allowed to give him tips or instructions, Sam wondered, or was he meant to just be naturally perfect at everything?
Or was she supposed to fake it and act like he was utterly amazing, even if he wasn’t?
They reached Sam’s block just as the last of the daylight faded. He parked right between her Focus and Mike’s PBP sedan, apropos of everything. Sam’s heels were loud on the sidewalk. Their bedroom faced the street, and it took all her effort not to glance up and check if Mike was watching from the window. She came within a breath of taking Bern’s hand before she realized what a scandal it would look like to a neighbor, and wrapped her fingers tightly around her purse strap.
She was steps, seconds, breaths from changing the shape of her and Mike’s sex life, forever. Whatever happened tonight, for better or worse, their marriage would never look quite the same.
