Nikki's Story: Crave Series, #1

by Heidi Lowe

  “I am. And I see we have company,” I say with little humor. Angel turns to look at me. I'm the only person who can see her smirk. Being here is a part of her game. “What's all of this?”

  “Hey, Nikki. I was just finishing up here.” Angel climbs to her feet.

  “I called Angelique at the salon this afternoon for a mani-pedi. Lucky me got a house call. Wasn't that nice of her?”

  “Are you kidding? It was great to get out of that place. And besides, you're family.” Her false modesty isn't fooling me, but Faye seems to be falling for it.

  “You're drinking,” I say. I don't care that she does, it's just that it only happens on special occasions. I'm surprised she knew where we kept the wine.

  “Yeah, I thought the least I could do was share a bottle of wine with Angelique, seeing as she was giving my hands and feet a makeover. What do you think, honey?”

  “I think your hands and feet looked just fine before.”

  “You know, I thought the same thing. Your wife has great feet. Oh, can I say that?” She puts a hand over her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed that she's over-stepped. It's all an act.

  “Stop it, you're embarrassing me,” my tipsy wife says. “Come and have a drink with us. You look stressed.”

  “Shouldn't Angelique be getting on her way now? We have to get Emily to bed.”

  “I don't wanna go to bed.”

  “You heard the girl, she wants to stay up.” Faye drags me to an empty seat and sits me down. “Just half an hour more, okay?” She kisses my face a couple of times, likely trying to eradicate the indignant expression on it.

  I glare at Angel, who is smiling faintly across the table from me, silently taunting me, while my wife is none the wiser.

  “Fine,” I say tight-lipped. I know I'm going to regret it, but refusing would look suspicious.

  It takes fifteen minutes of scowling at Angel, and giving only one word answers in a miserable tone, to get to a point in the conversation that raises my discomfort level to new heights.

  “I've said it before and I'll say it again, I admire you and Bernie for waiting until after you're married to...well, get to know each other...”

  “Faye, again with this?” I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. The last thing I want to do is talk about sex with my wife and ex, the woman I cheated on her with. This situation is just one big chunk of irony.

  “I know, I know, I'm sorry.” She's getting drunker by the minute. I should think about taking the bottle away, as she seems to be the only person drinking any of it.

  “Don't worry about it,” Angel says, waving a dismissive hand. “I don't mind talking about it.”

  “I mean, you're a better woman than me. I couldn't have waited with Nikki. I wanted to rip her clothes off the moment we met!”

  “Okay, I think you've had enough–” I reach over and grab the bottle, and try to go for her glass as well, but she slides it away from me, laughing.

  “Don't be shy, honey. You rock my world, I'm not ashamed to say it.”

  Angel's eyes meet mine. I don't know what that look means, but I don't like it. I don't like it because I don't understand it. Could it be envy? Or simply agreement? Goddammit, I hate not being able to read her.

  “I know the feeling,” Angel says. It's quiet, but we both hear it. And when Faye looks at her for elaboration, she makes a comeback. “One of my ex-girlfriends had the same effect on me. I wouldn't have waited with her either.”

  In case I needed confirmation that she's referring to me, she looks right at me. Faye's too busy spitting out her drink in shock to notice.

  “W–wait, did you say ex-girlfriends, as in lovers?”

  “That's right. There were several of them before I met Bernie. I dated women exclusively back then.”

  It feels like I'm being suffocated, like someone has thrown a plastic bag over my face and is waiting for the life to drain out of me. Aside from actually coming out and telling her that I've been fucking her behind my wife's back, this is the worst thing Angel could say. Up until now Angel was just a smoking hot young woman engaged to my father; now she's the smoking hot bisexual woman who has a preference for women. It's a complete game-changer.

  “Wow! Just...wow.” Faye sips her wine. “That's crazy. I would never have guessed.”

  “No one does. That was always a problem when I wanted to meet women. They thought I wasn't serious about being with them. You know, I got more abuse from lesbians than I did from straight people. Even Bernie, God bless him, accepted my past, accepted that my inclinations were valid.”

  This might be the most honest I've ever seen her, but it doesn't stop me wanting to get rid of her. We've all stepped into dangerous territory.

  “And what about now? Do you still like women?”

  “Faye–”

  “Sure. That won't ever change. Women are just...well, you understand.” Angel takes the last swig of her drink, then stands up. “I should get going. I want to say goodbye to Bernie before he leaves for Toronto tonight.”

  “That's a good idea,” I say.

  She packs her things away.

  “Thank you so much for this.” Faye kisses her on both cheeks. “You have to come round for a proper dinner. I need to put my culinary skills to good use. Nikki isn't really a foodie.”

  “Definitely. And I'll be sure to check out your blog. Mama Kitchen, right?”

  “That's the one.”

  I can't help but roll my eyes behind them both. And when they're done, I say, “I'll walk Angelique to the car.”

  The front door has barely closed behind us when I grab her arm. I don't care how tight I'm gripping on to it. “What the hell do you think you're doing coming to my home?”

  She yanks her arm away. “Hey, your wife called me. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Say you're busy, I don't know.”

  She chuckles. “Look at you, you're so mad right now.” She leans in closer, lowers her voice to a whisper. “It's so fucking sexy. I could come just looking at you.” She struts to her car and I follow her.

  “I don't ever want to see you back here again, you got that? Stay the hell away from my family.”

  “Well, it's not really your family I want to see, you know that.” She cackles. “But how sweet is it that your wife wants me to do something new with her hair, something you'll like. Too bad she doesn't realize that a new hairstyle isn't going to make you more interested in her now that I'm back on the scene.”

  “Get in your car and get the hell out of here.” I'm seeing red now, close to breathing fire. “You've crossed a line.”

  “I'll go, but only if you promise to come by your father's place tomorrow. He'll be away for three nights. It gets lonely in that big house all on my own.”

  “So call a friend.”

  “We're friends aren't we? Special friends.”

  “There's zero chance of me coming tomorrow.”

  She leans in again and whispers, “Well, if you do decide to show up, I'd say there's a 100% chance you'll come.”

  Just her saying the word brings me close to it. I watch as she climbs into her car, blows me a kiss, then drives off. It's a whole minute before I'm composed enough to head back inside, to my inebriated wife.

  “I'll do the bedtime run,” I say when I finally return. I don't pay much attention to her, just scoop up my daughter – who puts up a little resistance, insisting that she still wants to play – and head upstairs.

  I'm not very talkative tonight. The evening's events are still too vivid, too real for me. And, if I'm being honest, I'm annoyed with Faye.

  Her soft, lingering kiss to my cheek when she climbs into bed fails to get me to remove my eyes from the book I'm reading. So she does it again. Still no reaction from me.

  “Are you mad at me for drinking?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “But you are mad at me?”

  I sigh. “I'm tired. I didn't think we would have company this evening.”

  “She
didn't stay very long after you came home, honey.”

  I don't respond.

  “I get that you don't like her, but I do. She's a nice person.”

  I slam the book shut. “Quit saying that. You don't even know her.”

  “Neither do you, yet you've decided she's the devil incarnate.”

  “Did you really need your nails done? We've been together six years, and I can count on one hand how many times I've seen you get a mani-pedi.”

  She shrugs, looking defensive. “Sometimes I want to do something nice for myself. What's wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” I let out a long, tired sigh. We're fighting over Angel. She would do a victory dance if she knew this. It's exactly what she wants. Sooner or later everything becomes about her. I can't let her do this to us, as if she hasn't already done enough. “Your nails look amazing. You're amazing. I don't want to argue with you, not about her.” I take her face in my hands and kiss her gently on the lips. My mouth remains against hers, breathing her in. She is what's real, she is what matters. I'll be damned if I'm going to let Angel get in the way of that.

  ***

  Here's how addiction works: You can have the best intentions, be on the right path leading in the opposite direction, away from your bad habits. But if you're an addict, there's always this tiny bastard sitting on your shoulder and yelling in your ear, tempting you to stray, to go down the wrong path. Just one sip, just one hit. And he convinces you that somehow you're doing the right thing. He ditches you once you're lost, just so you know. But getting you into that predicament is all he cares about.

  I didn't know I would go to see her until I sneaked out of bed, jumped in my car and hit the highway in the direction of Fairfield County. All through work, with the devil on my shoulder screaming at me, reminding me how good it felt to be with her, I wasn't swayed. I truly believed I was over the worst of it.

  Yet here I am. I'm about five minutes away from my father's house, and I've been sitting in the car for over an hour, trying to convince myself that I can talk myself out of this terrible mistake. Thinking with my head, unfortunately, is a luxury I'm never afforded when it comes to Angel.

  “Fuck!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Being powerless is frustrating.

  The front door opens when I push it. That doesn't surprise me; it's a super safe neighborhood – locking your doors isn't necessary around here. I don't call out when I enter, just stroll through the house in search of her, praying that she isn't there. If she's out I'll feel no pressure to stick around.

  Splashing noises coming from the pool room make my heart sink. There's still time to turn back, I tell myself. But who am I kidding? I haven't even seen her, but knowing that she's in the pool – half-naked – will ensure I stay and see this thing through to its conclusion.

  I'm queasy with trepidation, my legs wobbly as I stagger toward the pool. When I see her, it's even worse than I thought. She's stark naked, doing backstrokes the length of the pool. She drifts through the water so lithely, so serenely, as though she has gills. This is how I imagine a mermaid would look, well, minus the legs. I could watch her float effortlessly about like that all night; there's something calming about seeing her this way.

  She sees me on her return lap, and stops. A knowing, smug smile settles on her lips. “Glad you could make it, though there was no doubt in my mind that you would come.”

  “I still don't know why I did.”

  “I do. You wanna get wet.” She flicks water at me and chuckles like a kid. Specks land on my clothes. I'm less than impressed. “I love making you wet.”

  I huff and roll my eyes, trying everything to appear dispassionate, which is the complete opposite of what I really am. She's succeeded in making me wet, and I don't mean with the pool water.

  “I don't know what's more pathetic, your euphemisms, or the fact that you were waiting here, buck naked, in the pool, hoping that I would show up.” Getting my shots in while I can, that's what this is. If I'm going to give in to her yet again, I have to at least feel like I put up a fight.

  But my words mean nothing to her. I showed up – that's victory enough for her. Whatever I say now is irrelevant. “I didn't hope for anything, Nik. I know you better than you know yourself. I was certain you would come.” She cups some water in her hands and lets it cascade down her chest, falling around her breasts before rejoining the rest of the water. I watch rocky pink nipples bobbing on the surface of the water, and the aching between my legs grows fiercer. It's all I can do not to dive into that pool fully-clothed and devour them!

  “You don't know me, you only think you do. Who I was when we were together isn't who I am today.”

  “Sure, maybe some things have changed, but where it matters, you're still the same Nikki Cox you were before. You still can't get enough of my vagina.” She drifts toward the edge of the pool, rests her arms on the floor at my feet. “The good news is, she also can't get enough of you. So why don't you get out of those clothes and come join me?”

  The word no is on the tip of my tongue, once again a last ditch attempt to show some restraint, some resilience; but after I've glared long and hard enough, I slowly begin to work my clothes off. She watches me like a hawk, her smirk taking up the whole of her face. I think she's getting off on this, on me stripping for her and doing so grudgingly. This seems to be our new dynamic: She tells me to do something, and I consent with feigned bitterness.

  “Nice,” she says as my top slides to the ground. “Now take off your pants. And take your time, I like the build up.”

  I consider doing the opposite of what she demands, but decide not to. Truth is, this is turning me on as much as it is her. It feels sordid and dirty, and I love it!

  Everything I once wore now lies in a pile behind me as I sink into the pool. The water is lukewarm, but I still shiver when it envelops me. It isn't the only one to claim me, however. Angel pounces even before I've had a chance to adjust to the temperature of the water.

  Her kisses are so forceful I'm left breathless. She presses me against the wall of the pool, her breasts rubbing against mine.

  “Have we ever fucked in one of these before? I forget,” she says when our lips separate.

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Well, first time for everything.”

  She hoists my legs up and around her waist, snakes her tongue back into my hungry mouth. I love the feel of her nipples against mine. She knows how to move to cause the most friction. Even if we never make it to the next stage, just getting this far, getting this much, will be enough.

  But getting to the next stage with Angel is never in doubt. She's a lover that sees everything through – never leaves a job undone. She guaranteed that I would come, and she won't rest until that happens. Her fingers stroke playfully at my hole, as though teasing it, and me. This coupled with the light touch of the water against my nub is driving me wild.

  “Do you like that?” she whispers against my lips.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me where you want my fingers.” Her stroking in and around my hole becomes more aggressive as she waits for my answer. The sexy murmur to her voice heightens the sensation.

  “Inside me,” I breathe.

  “I didn't hear you.”

  “Inside me, deep inside.” I almost shout it, that's how desperate she's made me. It never takes her long to get me from calm to frenzied. It's as if she's fiddling with a dial between my legs.

  Her laugh is wicked. “Well, if you insist.”

  Two fingers make a relatively easy passage inside, thanks to the water acting as lubricant. I throw my head back a little and let her pound, finding her target immediately, and hitting it over and over with delicious precision. It's been seven years since she's visited that spot, yet she still knows her way around as though it was only yesterday.

  My back is slamming against the pool wall, my skin being rubbed raw, and I'm sure it will leave a mark I'll have to explain to my wife in the morning. B
ut my only concern is sitting back and taking Angel's offering, getting my release. So what if I'm bruised and sore afterward?

  “See, I knew you didn't want me to leave. This is what you want; this is what you always want.” She nibbles on my earlobe. “You pretend to be over me, but you're still as horny as the day we ended it. And this will always be mine, no matter who you marry.”

  It's a combination of her mouth on my ear, the sensual tone to her voice, and her brazen claim to ownership of my vagina, plus the now vicious plunging her fingers are doing, that makes me blow my load harder than ever before. It's a loud and trembling climax, the aftershocks of which I feel several moments after I've come.

  Her lips brush against mine as I try to catch my breath.

  “When was the last time your wife made you come like that, huh?”

  I would be more furious if I wasn't still in my post-climax euphoria. “Just leave Faye out of this,” I say tiredly.

  “Oh, she has nothing to do with what I just did to you.” She cackles, witch-like.

  “I must be crazy. I know it's wrong, yet I keep coming back for more.”

  “You're not crazy, you're human.” She tries to kiss me on the lips but I move my face so she only gets the side. I see a flicker of annoyance. “Everyone has one person they can't quit, one lover who's more compatible with them than anyone else. That's what we are to each other.”

  We look at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Her breasts are still pressed against mine, and her nipples are still as hard as they were when we started. If I stay in this position too long I'll want to begin round two, and I fear I may never get out of this pool.

  “We're not compatible, Angel. I'm compatible with my wife, hence why I married her. Whatever this is that we're doing, it has nothing to do with compatibility.”

  “You're in denial,” she says simply. And she moves in a way that creates wonderful friction against my nipples. Oh dear God, she's trying to work me up again. Wasn't giving me one orgasm enough for her? “You're afraid to admit it, because you'll realize you made a mistake marrying her.”