Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  “Controversial?” she asked.

  “Well, I hope to follow Dion to the office of Mayor, eventually President of the United States. I need to be associated with a family that….”

  “That what?” she prodded. “Just spit it out, Clayton!” By now she was beyond curious—she was angry.

  “That doesn’t succumb to antics,” he said with exasperation.

  “What the hell does that mean?” she asked incredulously.

  “You know how he is in court,” he said. “With his mental thesaurus and theatrics.”

  “He wins, that’s what he does in court,” she spat back at him.

  “And the way he grandstands for the press,” Clayton continued.

  “Your guy seemed to have no problem when he was grandstanding for the press to promote his run for office,” she retorted.

  “It’s about appearances, London!” he cried. “Frankly, he acts like….”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest of that, but she held his gaze all the same.

  “He acts like a buffoon,” he spat. “London, we’ve moved beyond the days of shuckin’ and jivin’ to get ahead. I need to be associated with a serious family.”

  She gasped. “How dare you!” she said just a bit too loud.

  Clayton looked around at the tables near them, where people were beginning to sense the tension in the air. “Keep your voice down, London,” he hissed.

  “What?” she spat. “Am I acting too much like a buffoon? Too much shuckin’ and jivin’ for your comfort level?” she sneered, raising her voice just to spite him.

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he retorted. “I need a Michelle Obama, not a Real Housewife of Atlanta.”

  Seriously?

  “Are you honestly drawing your lines from Legally Blonde?” she asked incredulously.

  He gave her a perplexed expression and it took him a moment to get what she was referring to.

  London ignored him while he pondered that. Sweet mercy! Her life was turning into a fucking movie. But this was no movie, this was real life. Movies had happy endings. London could see absolutely no light at the end of this tunnel. There was no secret admirer or someone special that she was meant to be with waiting in the wings. She hadn’t even dated in ten years!

  Fucking Clayton Moore.

  London looked over at him sipping his wine and looking anxiously at the people around them, no doubt still worried about his image.

  She gripped the glass again, so very close to doing something she knew she’d regret. She took a deep breath. Her rational mind took over. She certainly wasn’t going to prove him right by doing exactly what he would expect, and turn her glass of wine over on his head. Instead she grabbed the bottle and poured the rest of it into her glass and drank.

  Assuming the worst was over, he spoke up again. “Now, I know it’s your turn to pay. But just so we end this on equal footing with one another, I’m willing to go Dutch…considering the circumstances.”

  She stopped mid-sip, not sure he had actually suggested what he just did. She eyed the crisp white shirt and neatly pressed suit jacket, wondering what it would look like with a colorful splash of red.

  Don’t do it, London.

  Over the next week she would spend many moments regretting not doing it. Tonight, at least, she kept her—and more importantly—her family’s, dignity intact.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Brooklyn curved her body inward under the feel of the ice cube running across her stomach. She was blindfolded and had both hands tied to Alex’s headboard.

  Ignoring her protest, she felt the ice cubes on all five of his fingertips as they traced their way around her navel and up toward her breasts. She stiffened in anticipation of the icy, cold path reaching her nipples. Still, she gasped as they hardened into tiny pebbles as the wet coldness hit them.

  “Unnhh,” she groaned, wriggling under the torturous pleasure.

  She heard him chuckle in response. “Keep it up,” he teased. “The more you struggle, the more I like it. You have no idea what this body of yours is doing to me.”

  She smiled. It was so fucking erotic, being helpless and blind to the world as he inspected every inch of her body with his eyes and fingers. She gave another wriggle just to turn him on.

  He rewarded her by bringing his warm wet mouth down around the frigid nipple, which only brought about a different kind of painful pleasure.

  “You are so gonna get it when it’s your turn,” she warned.

  It was late Saturday morning and, surprisingly, Brooklyn was still naked in Alex’s apartment. Were one night stands supposed to last this long? They hadn’t even gotten around to having that talk about Michael, which had been her sole reason for being here in the first place.

  The apartment was a veritable crime scene of clues that could give even the most incompetent detective an idea of where the night, and the morning, had gone. The leftover Chinese takeout on the night stand that Alex had ordered to help her “soak up some of those Happy Endings.” The Quentin Tarintino DVDs scattered by the TV that they’d binged watched all night long. Alex’s discarded t-shirt and shorts that she’d thrown on when he took her out for a quick breakfast earlier this morning. Empty champagne bottles and orange juice cartons that they’d made impromptu mimosas from, while they read the pages of the New York Times that were now scattered all over the floor.

  Now it was almost noon and the mimosas were beginning to wear off. Brooklyn was still heady from the bubbles, and had willingly acquiesced to Alex’s deviant ideas.

  She had no regrets.

  She felt the ice cubes tracing their way down between her thighs.

  Okay, mostly no regrets.

  “Don’t you dare!” she shouted.

  “Hush,” he scolded. “I’m not a complete sadist. Just relax and enjoy it.”

  She kept quiet but her body became tense as the ice cubes made lazy circles around her thighs, getting closer and closer….

  She clamped her legs together. “Alex!” she warned.

  She felt him try to wriggle his ice-cube free hand between her tightly squeezed legs.

  “Open,” he ordered.

  She kept them closed.

  “Trust me,” he assured her.

  “Last time you said that, I ended up with pubic hair in the shape of an arrow pointed straight at my hoo-ha,” she responded.

  “That’s to point you in the right direction when you spend your long, lonely nights thinking of me,” he joked.

  She laughed, which caused her body to relax just enough for him to get his hand between her thighs. She decided to give in and see where he was taking her. She opened wide for him.

  The wet ice slid along her smooth inner thigh, leaving wet trails in their path that slid in ticklish streams down to the bed. She gave another wriggle just to tease him and smiled when she heard him chuckle.

  The ice made its way further and further up her thighs and she stopped to focus on where it was headed. Alex removed all but one ice cube on his index finger. He slowed his pace once he was a mere inch from her freshly shaved lips. The first passing glance of frigid wetness hit her outer lips.

  Brooklyn moaned, flinching in response.

  Each millimeter of icy progression sent a spasm of shock through her body, that was echoed by the feel of the cool air against the frigid wetness left behind. The ice cube traced the puffy outer folds leaving a wet trace that was nothing compared to the tsunami it was creating beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure if it was the discarded ice cubes or her own flow that was leaving the puddle underneath her.

  Once the cube was nothing more than a tiny, melting drop, Alex discarded it. He worked the frozen tip of his index finger beneath the folds, straight to the tiny button of nerve endings. Brooklyn’s back arched so high it was like something out of the Exorcist. Her breath came in heavy gasps as the arctic lightning bolt of pleasure shot th
rough her system.

  “Alex!” she screamed, twisting the sheets with her fists.

  It was her turn. She had him tied up, but left the blindfold off. Brooklyn wanted him to see everything.

  “Let’s see how you like it,” she taunted. She stuck an ice cube between her teeth and raised an eyebrow. Alex just grinned in response.

  She bent over, straddling his naked body. She smiled at the flinch when the melting cube first made contact with his hard stomach. She trailed it around each, well-sculpted ab. The combination of her warm mouth and his warm body caused the cube to melt rapidly. Once it complexity disappeared she raised her eyes toward him seductively as she lapped up the cool puddles, pooled like a series of interconnected rivers outlining each part of his six-pack. She ended with a swirl of the tongue inside his bellybutton.

  She watched his face take on a look of intense control as he struggled not to react to the feel of her warm tongue tracing the icy wet spots. Even if he tried to hide it in his expression, his body didn’t lie.

  She placed another ice cube between her teeth as she looked down at his growing erection thoughtfully.

  “Brooklyn,” he said with a warning tone.

  “What?” she asked innocently, sucking the cube into her cheek to reply. “I’m not a complete sadist,” she mimicked.

  She brought the ice cube back between her front teeth and leaned back down to circle his nipples with it. She smiled as she heard him gasp in surprise. This was so much fun!

  Brooklyn worked the melting ice over one nipple, then the other. She followed each with the warm embrace of her mouth, soothing the shock of cold. Then she kissed her way up to his neck.

  “Poor baby,” she murmured, “can’t handle the cold?”

  She felt his throat vibrate under her lips as he chuckled.

  “Are you gonna untie me so we can finally get lunch or something?” he laughed.

  She pulled herself up to give him an admonishing look. “Oh no, no, no,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “We’re not even close to done.”

  She took another ice cube and placed it in her mouth.

  “Brooklyn,” he said in a warning tone. “What are you doing?”

  She just responded by rolling the cube around in her mouth, with a flirtatious smile. When the cube was nothing more than a sliver she moved it to the tip of her tongue and crawled down between his legs.

  He was already so hard from having his nipples worked over that his cock was already facing up toward her. It was easy enough for her to trace the tiny, icy remnant up the hard ridge underneath his shaft, looking up at him seductively the entire way. He sucked in a breath as his body tensed from the sensation of it. One part of his body in particular became noticeably harder. His pulsating erection was so hot that by the time she reached the head, the sliver of ice was already melted.

  Her tongue and mouth were still several degrees cooler than body temperature. When she wrapped them around the engorged purple head she heard another sharp intake of breath, followed by a heavy moan.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he growled, looking down at her.

  She stared up at him as she grabbed the shaft beneath her mouth with both hands. The tips of her fingers were also slightly cool as they wrapped around his hardness. She worked her mouth down as far as she could. That’s when she saw it.

  Her forehead crinkled in confusion as she searched through the forest of pubic hair, trying to decipher what she was looking at. “What have we here?” she asked pulling her mouth off of him.

  Alex looked down in dismay at the oral coitus interruptus. “What?” he asked incredulously, until he saw what she was looking at.

  He threw his head back and groaned.

  “You know you’re tied up,” she reminded him. “I can go get the razor and find out myself,” she laughed.

  “Can’t we just forget you saw that and get back to what it was you were doing?”

  “I told you mine, now you tell me yours,” she replied. At his silence, she decided to take matters into her own hands and push the pubic hair aside so she could get a better look.

  “Hello?” she said figuring out the first word. “Really?” she asked, looking up at him with scorn.

  “It gets worse,” he warned.

  She smirked and tried to figure out the word underneath that. “Ladies?”

  “Oh, Alex!” she said, slapping him on his stomach.

  “Okay, in all fairness, I was also nineteen,” he confessed. “And full of Jäger.”

  “Well,” she said cringing down at it, thankful it was mostly covered by dark hair, “Having been waxed down there, I at least have the satisfaction of knowing it had to hurt like hell,”

  He laughed. “I barely remember getting it!”

  She just shook her head. “What kind of ‘misspent youth’ were you up to Alex?”

  “Can’t we just go back to 5 minutes ago and continue that…conversation,” he grinned.

  “I don’t know,” she mused. “It does say right here, ladies, plural. Unfortunately it’s just little ole’ me right now.”

  “Ugh, you’re going to make me beg aren’t you?” he moaned. “If it makes you feel better, I do seriously, seriously regret it. Thankfully Brazilians aren’t a thing for men.”

  Brooklyn laughed. “Well, I guess as long as you regret it. You do have to get pretty close to see it,” she agreed peering down closer.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “Yeah. But seriously, no more tattoos for you Alex. You have zero judgement in that area.”

  “I’ve grown out of those days,” he promised. “What can I say? I was a teenage asshole.”

  Chapter Ten

  “That asshole.”

  “That bastard.”

  “Maybe you can still get him back.”

  The three women looked at Sheila as though she was crazy. She just shrugged in response.

  London had run to the comfort of her girlfriends. The four of them had been friends, sisters, since their years at Spelman College. They were sitting in a restaurant, but she had no desire to eat.

  “What?” Sheila protested. “Ten years is a long time. Do you really just want to throw it away like that?”

  “I didn’t throw it away,” London reminded her. Why would Sheila even suggest such a thing? London had revealed every awful detail of last night’s devastating news. How could her friend think she would fight to get the bastard back?

  “Meanwhile,” Kenesha said, side-eyeing the offender, “the rest of us wonder why you waited so long. I, for one, would have moved on 5 years ago, Morehouse man or not.”

  “Why did you stay with him?” Angela asked.

  “I don’t know,” London sighed. “It just seemed like we—he—was always waiting for the right time. First we had to finish law school. Okay, fine. Then it was the bar—which he had to take twice,” she rolled her eyes, “then it was after I made partner at daddy’s firm. Then he wanted to advance enough with Dion Davis—”

  “So, basically, never,” Kenesha interrupted.

  London stopped and stared at her for a moment. One side of her mouth came up in a sad smirk. “I guess you’re right. I suppose I just got comfortable, then complacent, thinking he’d come around one day.”

  “When a man wants to be with you, they don’t wait, they go for it,” Angela said. She was tactful enough to leave the insinuation unspoken: Clayton didn’t want her.

  Maybe her father was just an excuse. It was a cruel excuse, but then maybe that was the point. She could sit here and analyze it all day but it all boiled down to the same thing: Clayton didn’t want her.

  Angela reached across the table to take London’s hand. “You know we’re here for you,” she assured her, shooting a scornful look at Sheila.

  London stared down at the hand holding hers. She saw the diamond ring and accompanying wedding band. She looked around the table at the other three hands, all equally adorned with a wedding band and diamond ring. It was like looking at a paint strip fr
om Home Depot, various shades of the same brown. Angela with her rich dark color. Sheila right smack in the middle, with her warm, medium, brown tone. Kenesha, the lightest of all of them.

  London looked at her light brown hand under Angela’s and realized she was the outlier. The three of them were perfect points on the spectrum—dark, medium, light—and London was a dot lying in some weird halfway point between Kenesha and Sheila.

  She didn’t even have the fucking ring that was glaringly present on all of the other hands. Their men had put a ring on it. London had been strung along for ten years. Ten fucking years!

  The worst part was, their husbands and Clayton were friends. They had all come out of Morehouse/Spelman together. They had all gone to Howard. They had dinner parties at each other’s place. They had gone on ski trips and Caribbean vacations together.

  Sweet Christ, they were like clones!

  Except for, of course, poor London. Poor London with no ring. Poor London with no two kids. Poor London who didn’t even have so much as a boyfriend anymore.

  Right now Clayton was probably with each of her girlfriends’ husbands—husbands!—yucking it up about what a “buffoon” her father was.

  She put her—ringless!—hand to her forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

  “You’re still young,” Kenesha chimed in. “Thirty-one is not too old to find a new”—she shot a look at Sheila—“man.”

  “She’s right, London,” Angela assured her. “You’re probably the best looking out of all of us, and smart, and kind. Any man would be lucky to have you.” They all nodded in agreement.

  London knew they were just trying to make her feel better. Right now she felt like the least desirable woman on the face of the earth.

  “At the very least, you get out there and find yourself a fine ass rebound, girl!” Kenesha insisted. “Make sure he has a big dick!” she laughed.

  That got a laugh out of London. Even Angela, usually the most grown up of the bunch, managed a grin.

  “Hell, even I can’t argue with that!” said Sheila. “You go and get yours, girl!”