It's Just Sext (The Right Kind of Wrong)

by Felice Fox

  And as far as loving herself? For months they messaged each other, sharing only the parts they wanted each other to see. Somewhere along the way, Lauren bought into her own perfect story and started to see herself as Marc did, confident, sexy and lovable. Her flaws faded in importance, no longer a focus or a crutch in her real life. Like some magical elixir, their limited communication had made her fall in love with herself, and him too, and wasn’t that just perfect?

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  MARC AND LAUREN’S SMOKIN’

  HOT STORY CONTINUES IN:

  Perfect Sext

  Now Available from Felice Fox!

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  It’s Just Sext

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  © Felice Fox 2013

  Ten days is a long time between perfect moments, and Lauren was in desperate need of a hot and sweaty reminder of what she and Marc had together. But he was still on the ship, out of cell range, and would be for several more hours. The only hot and sweaty she was going to get for now was a steep climb into the Santa Monica mountains.

  She waved to Kate, who was making her way through the parking lot to meet her at the trailhead, and hoped a vigorous hike would keep her frayed nerves in check. Lauren clicked on her phone and went to her text messages, scrolling through until she found the photo of Marc where he was, remarkably, fully clothed. A single raised eyebrow. Slightly parted lips she needed to skim with the tip of her tongue. The image made her cross her legs and clench. Lauren flashed the photo at Kate as she approached, munching on trail mix. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she gushed.

  “Yes. Actually looks a bit older in this one,” Kate said, wiping the corners of her mouth and trading the snack bag for Lauren’s phone. Lauren popped a small scoop of raspberry chocolate trail mix in her mouth. Of course. Kate’s favorite.

  In the only other photo Lauren had shared, Marc wore a baseball cap, tight black tank and bad-boy scowl. She and Kate swapped phone for trail mix again and headed out. “You’re excited to see him.”

  “I’m nervous as fuck. He’s so…gorgeous and…amazing. I saw that.”

  “What, this?” Kate pointed to her eyes and rolled them again. “Sorry you had to see that.” The two of them laughed.

  “Okay, okay. But can’t you just be happy for me?” So far, Kate hadn’t asked why they weren’t staying at Lauren’s place, which was fine. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was looking forward to the refuge of their little hotel room haven.

  “Honestly, it’s a bit hard when I really do believe these age gap relationships are hard to make work—however—I did get you something.” Kate pulled out her phone, tapped the screen and a moment later Lauren’s phone beeped. They stopped in the middle of the trail.

  “You have a gift from Kate Markham.” She read the email, trying to hide the flicker of disappointment that there was still no message from Marc.

  “It’s a really great book written by two women who researched the older woman, younger man thing. Pitfalls to avoid, lots of happily-ever-afters. You’ll like it. Come on. Put that thing away now. I figured this book would be better than a guide to a better blow job,” Kate told her.

  “No, I’ve pretty much got that handled,” Lauren said. Her thoughts drifted away as she tucked the phone into her daypack. Marc’s irresistible face swam into view, then hardened into the ‘I’m-gonna-drill-you-mercilessly’ look she loved. She stood there in the middle of the trail, imagining herself bent over, his fingertips pressed into the flesh of her butt cheeks as he spread her open, his low growl suddenly muffled as he planted his mouth deep in her crevices, voraciously lapping away.

  “Hey. I’m still eating,” Kate snapped her fingers, causing Lauren to blush immediately. “Don’t get all panty-soaked on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, has he asked you for a threesome yet?”

  Lauren balked, blushed even more, and increased her pace up the dusty hillside.

  “Oh my God, he did!” Kate chased after her. “And you said yes! You are such a naughty librarian.”

  “No, no, no. Okay I might have said I would if he gave me a threesome with another guy… and you know perfectly well I’m a graphic designer.”

  “You’re crazy is what you are.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll never happen.”

  “Bull. Shit. You’ve already decided. When you get an idea in your head, eventually you make it happen.”

  Like with most things when it came to Marc, Lauren went from shock, to contemplation, to amusement, until finally accepting the idea as her very own. When he first said he’d always wanted a threesome, she laughed. What guy wouldn’t? “I’ll do it if you’ll give me one,” she had replied, thinking a quid pro quo deal would put him off.

  But it didn’t and when he said okay, she actually started playing the possibilities over in her mind. Not her end of the bargain—being with him and another woman… no she wasn’t ready to contemplate that—but his. Who would she want for a second male in this scenario? Old boyfriends and office crushes filtered through her daydreams, her ‘alone time’ saturated with partners under consideration, imagining different combinations, testing them out while she touched herself. Most of them would not want to be with another man. Not in real life.

  She told Kate as much. “I can see myself in a multiple bargaining situation in which I’ll be obligated to do two male-female-female threesomes just to get my one.”

  “Wow,” Kate took a swig of water and fixed Lauren with a serious stare. “You’ve really given this some thought.”

  “Don’t you think it would be amazing to love someone so much, be so confident of their love you could give them a gift like that? Out of love rather than resignation—”

  “—or desperation. You’re such a dreamer! Do you even trust him?” Kate asked. Lauren quieted, her feet landing heavier, struggling to pop the tiny bubbles of doubt in her belly. “Anyway, I don’t think I could do it unless I knew for sure I didn’t want either one for anything more than sex. Besides, I hate to bring you back down to earth, but you two are nowhere near that kind of deeply bonded, unconditional love.”

  A little queasy, Lauren screwed up her lips and reached for her own water bottle. She hated reality checks. This thing between them was going to take time. Wasn’t it?

  “Forget all that,” said Kate, waving it away with a sly smile. “Tell me who you would pick as your second?”

  Lauren thought a minute, skipped a few paces ahead and turned to walk backwards, facing Kate, the sun at her back, warming her shoulders. “Matt.”

  “Nooooo…”

  “Hunter?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Come on. He’d be okay with another guy,” Lauren said, falling back into step beside her. Kate shook her head.

  “No exes.”

  Lauren’s eyes twinkled. “Well then…I’ll have to say, this guy…Billy Hart.”

  Kate came to a full stop.

  Lauren’s cheeks flushed and she let her eyes follow the rolling mountain peaks to the distant ocean, refusing to look at her. Of course Kate knew who he was. When it came to sex, Lauren often felt like the naïve, inexperienced little sister.

  “You have excellent taste,” Kate said finally, for once not teasing her outright. “That man truly knows how to fuck a woman. He’s delicious.”

  “Amen,” said Lauren letting out a deep breath. She slapped Kate’s hand in a high five and they hiked on with matching silly grins. No use pretending she doesn’t watch porn, though she decided not admit she liked to swap links with Marc. “Billy Hart is beautiful. Every time I see him in something, I feel genuine happiness for the woman he’s with. How could you not? Billy and Marc. For sure. Who would you pick?”

  Kate was quiet for a moment. She
lowered her eyes, then glanced over at Lauren through not-so-innocent lashes. “Well, now I want Billy Hart, too.”

  “You can’t have him.”

  “I must.”

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  © 2012 Felice Fox

  Chapter One

  June's hand trembled as she took the microphone at the edge of the stage and gazed out at the crowd of thousands, stretching up the grassy hillside in the late August heat.

  It's just a publicity stunt to promote the book, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.

  She gave them her best Hollywood smile, tucked a long, dark strand behind her ear and pulled a small piece of notepaper from her pocket—like she needed a reminder of who was getting ready to take the stage. Carolina Jones was an all-star bluegrass band and half the people at the festival were here to see them anyway.

  She glanced at her notes, gathering up her courage. She had been pushed uncomfortably into the limelight, but wasn't it what she had dreamed of all along? Before she got the first line of introduction out, the band had taken their places on stage, staring at her with big Cheshire cat grins, and Lucinda, the buxom, redheaded singer called out to her.

  “So June, we here in the band all read your luuuverly book. Hot and steamy as all get out!”

  Catcalls and whistles erupted from the crowd.

  “But we're dyin' to know who it's about. Who was your 'inspiration'? Not any of these ugly fellers, I hope.” The crowd hooted and Lucinda rolled on. “We promise not to tell anyone. Right y'all?”

  June smirked and shook her head. This wasn't how her publicist said it would go.

  “I'll never tell,” June said, a little too close to the microphone. She recoiled as the feedback hit her ears.

  “Well, if it's all the same to you, we kinda put together a betting pool.” Lucinda took a hundred dollar bill from her pocket, folded it once lengthwise and tucked it at the top of her guitar’s fret board, waving like a little green flag. “We passed your book around the campfire last night and read out the steamy parts. Now we've each got some idea of who it is—'a course Daniel over there thinks it was about him.” The crowd laughed. “Come on over here.”

  “No—no thank you!” said June, a hoarse laugh catching in her throat as she backed away.

  Lucinda waltzed over, stuffed June's introduction notes in her own pocket, then dragged her to center stage.

  The crowd cheered.

  “You all have heard of Ms. June Cricket, have ya not? Her little bestselling book has gone and brought the sexy back to bluegrass! She'll be signing it in the autograph tent later, so you go and get a copy for yourself, or your wife or girlfriend. You'll thank me!”

  June smiled. Maybe it wasn't going badly after all. Now if Lucinda would just let go—

  Lucinda pulled her closer.

  “Was it Bo Bentley?” she whispered. Her warm breath billowed into June's ear, sending a shiver up her spine. “It was, wasn't it?!” Lucinda's eyes sparkled and June felt a little sick. Why does everyone want to know so badly? She was too mortified to ever tell. It was better for everyone involved if she kept her hero's true identity a mystery.

  June shook her head.

  “No, it wasn't. Sorry.”

  June raised a hand to wave to the crowd and turned to exit the stage, but someone else from the band stepped out in front of her and pulled her close. He whispered and June shook her head.

  Then another.

  And another.

  June laughed. What was she worried about? They would never guess.

  Daniel, the banjo player sauntered over.

  “It wasn't you, Daniel,” June teased, shooing him away. The crowd ate it up. She would be signing books until sunrise.

  Daniel moved in closer, ran the back of his hand down the length of her bare arm and grinned.

  “Coulda' been,” he said, in a sultry baritone loud enough to elicit whistles from the crowd. Then he leaned in close and lowered his voice, whisky-scented breath blowing hot over her shoulder. “But, it was Nic Taylor.” June froze. A red heat crept up her neck and face.

  Oh God, please don't...

  “Hot damn!” shouted Daniel, clapping his hands together and strutting over to strip the cash from Lucinda's fret board. He waved it at the audience. “Ain't no way Nic Taylor is prettier 'n me, am I right?! You want to tuck this somewhere for me June, baby?”

  By the time he looked back at her, June was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Ten Months Later

  June tried to remember the men she had slept with before she drove off track and committed herself to the wrong man. It wasn’t that there had been so many—only that it was so long ago. She rolled onto her back, spreading out on the cool sheets of her now too-large bed, and stared into the whiteness of her sunlit, ocean front house in Malibu. It was one whole year to the day since she had a man in her bed. Not the kind of anniversary a girl wants to celebrate, but there it was.

  The men she had sex with were there in the recesses of her mind, just waiting to remind her of who she once was.

  Italy.

  She remembered that one easily enough—his body, if not his name. Smooth muscled shoulders the color of dark cocoa. She had called her best friend back in the states for advice then. No matter what time of day or night, they had a pact to talk each other out of bad hook-ups. “Bed him,” Camille had said. “Now let me go back to sleep.” He spoke little English. They had waited quietly until the shadowy castle ruins were closed up for the night, then sneaked up a forest path and came around to the front entrance. She let him take her there in front of the portcullis, her back grinding into stone. The regret lasted a few months, but no more.

  June smiled to herself. No regrets now.

  She thought back over the years between her very first clumsy night of sex and the day she met her husband-to-be. She knew there were others, but the only guys that came to mind now were the ones she had desperately wanted, but turned away out of self-preservation. The ones who were too beautiful, accomplished or rich to want her for anything more than casual sex. At the time, it felt like she was protecting herself, but was that really it?

  Saying no to them had been her way of staying in control—the only way, it seemed, to exert power over men who could crush her heart. Men she wanted too much from in the first place.

  June had to wonder now. Had she stunted her own sensual development? Maybe if she had allowed herself...? No. She couldn’t believe that would have been right for her. She would have asked too much, forming an attachment despite herself, like an unwanted puppy.

  She made the right choice for her 20-something self, but now where did that leave her, a woman with a stronger sense of self, not so desperate to tackle a man and drag him into the happily ever after?

  June rolled up onto her side and glanced past the stack of books by her bed to the glorious ocean view, consciously avoiding the one at the bottom of the stack. Her book. The one that had put her on the New York Times bestseller list and cost her a marriage. Her gaze slicked past it, like so many times before, in an effort to avoid the mixture of shame and pride she felt about her success. She had never meant for anyone to know who inspired that book. Few authors want a reader to see behind the veil—is it really anyone’s business if her stories were based on real experiences or not? Didn’t matter now.

  She got out of bed and reached up for a sun salutation, a series of yoga poses that felt entirely natural when waking up beside the ocean. Buying this place after the divorce seemed smart, though she’d soon have to take in a roommate if she didn’t finish her next book.

  Nic Taylor.

  Her mind stumbled over the name and came to a screeching halt. Meeting him was real enough. But, had she slept with him? No. No, she hadn’t. Though he didn’t fit neatly into the “denied” category either.

  June was sure he would have heard about the book by now. She could never,
ever face him again, that’s for sure.

  She tried to move on, but her mind refused to let her change the subject. Nic Taylor was the one that got away. She was still single, but he was already married when they met, and although that kept her physically at arm’s length from him, there was no stopping her heart from betraying her. She wept for him as if they had been star-crossed lovers, and not just a couple of people who met at a weekend bluegrass festival. It didn’t help that he was the famous son of a legend.

  “You never stop smiling, do you?” he had asked, his charming Southern drawl melting June to a puddle as she escorted him to the next stage. Meeting the musicians was one of the perks of volunteering at these shows, and though she’d never really listened to his music before, she knew exactly who he was. The Taylors were the quintessential bluegrass family band; their father’s songs were considered standards.

  Listening to them play that festival, she was surprised to hear how many songs she hadn’t known were written by Nic’s dad. She had been hearing them at jam sessions since forever.

  The idea that she had fallen instantly in love with an already-spoken-for bluegrass star was not something June liked to admit. It had been foolish fantasy, and yet she had carried the memory with her for almost a decade when all other schoolgirl crushes had faded away. She had convinced herself that an unspoken understanding arose between them that weekend—they had spent every free moment huddled in conversation, after all. The connection had been instant and natural, and subsequently heartbreaking for June. At least she had transformed her unrequited love into a bestselling novel.