by Kim Karr
Like a cat, my curiosity is back.
And when she shoves the man against the door, I feel my heart start to pound. The man is likely Cam—the dark-haired guy she trampled over me to get to and then dragged away from his friends. Getting a better look at him, I can see that his body is taut with tension. A live wire, I think. Definitely an uptight suit.
Trust me—I know the type well.
Right now is when I should announce myself. Yet I don’t. Instead, I cover the screen of my phone to shield its glare and watch for what she’s going to do next. Maybe yell at him. Cry. Or even break up with him. She’s a woman on a mission, and I feel an odd kinship with her because I’ve been there before.
As if releasing her rage, she rips his shirt apart, and I panic as the buttons jump across the carpeted floor and land very close to my table. The couple doesn’t even seem to notice, though, because the woman is already running her palms up his smooth, muscled skin. When she bends, I think for a moment she might bite him or pinch him, and then tell him to go to hell, but instead she starts licking him.
Wait!
She was mad at him.
Wasn’t she?
Had I gotten her body language all wrong?
From my downtown view, I can tell she’s working his one nipple hard. His hands claw at the door behind him as if he needs the support, but his satisfied groans tell me he likes what’s going on. When Megan moves to the other side of his chest, my gaze lands on a tattoo of a scrolling letter B right over his heart, and I think Megan must be B.
Brittney?
Breanna?
Bailey?
Bethany, I bet. She looks like one.
Megan with a B traces the scrolling letter. For some reason, I can’t call her Bethany. To me she’s Megan. I’ll stick with that. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Just shut up,” he hisses, and I wish I could see his face so I could tell if he’s angry or if he likes to be rough.
My thoughts are soon left in the dust because red soles are all I can see when she drops to her knees. Shocked, I have to use my hand to cover my gasp. This is not what I expected. Either way, it’s too late for me to say a word.
Slowly, she unzips the fine fabric of his trousers, and I want to die.
I can’t watch this.
Yet, I do.
The pink lights flicker over and around me, and if either of them looks toward the corner, they might catch a glimpse of my extremely bold, large silver zipper. Remind me why I suggested this change to the designer? Inching my way farther back, I make sure to blend in with my all-black attire.
“I want you,” she moans with a harsh breath.
“You don’t get to have me,” he sneers at her.
“How about this, then?” she asks as she strokes his cock, which is still covered by his boxers, and then kisses it.
From the groan he makes, it sounds like he’s battling himself. “You don’t want to do this,” he replies, and something in the sound of his tortured, low, creamy voice sets my blood on fire.
She ignores his response and yanks his pants and boxers past his knees. No pants required for this act. And then without any more preamble, she takes him in her mouth and sheaths him with her lips. I can’t see his cock, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
Really, I’m not a pervert. I’m not even the least bit kinky. In fact, I’m the opposite of kinky. I jill off with my fingers. I like sex missionary style, on a bed, at night, in the dark. And I’m not very good at blow jobs. I usually gag.
There’s a dull thud against the door, and I imagine it is Cam tipping his head in pleasure despite the fact that he’s mad at Megan with a B.
Why is he mad?
What did she do?
Who is she?
A random pickup?
His girlfriend?
His fiancée?
His wife?
I’m going with girlfriend. I feel like the intimacy she used to trace the letter on his chest meant something. Not fiancée or wife—I don’t see rings—but I guess if they are in a fight they might have taken them off. What did she do to upset him? Spend too much money? Get tipsy at lunch? Refuse to spread her legs when he wanted her to?
The act continues. Her long, dark hair bobs. His shirttails practically cover her head. And then his tie whispers across the hint of skin I can see between the folds of fabric, and I start to feel a little overheated. None of that seems to bother her, though, as she works him with both her hands and her mouth.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
My eyes feel dry. I blink them a few times. Damn contacts. The movement of my head causes the gemstone around my neck to fall and hit the side of the floor.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Like a clock, it moves until I grab it.
Suddenly, B stops what she’s doing and looks up at Cam.
Did she hear it?
I stop breathing.
“You like it when I do this. Admit it,” she purrs.
Phew. She didn’t hear anything.
Angry or not, I know I don’t imagine the sound of laughter he makes or the hand he puts on B’s hair as he pushes her head down. “In the condition I’m in tonight, sweetheart, any whore will do.”
Mean, vicious words meant to hurt, or is this just their way?
The use of the word sweetheart tells me he refuses to call her by name. Megan with a B doesn’t seem to mind, because soon enough the wet noise of mouth on flesh is the only sound besides my heavy breathing that I can hear.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Cam groans.
“I know how you like it,” B tells him, looking up again.
Okay, so at least they’re well acquainted. Again, I’m going with girlfriend.
Cam doesn’t seem to want to look into her eyes, because he once again pushes her head down. “Who wouldn’t?” he tells her, and for the first time, I hear the slur of alcohol in his voice.
Fascinated by the exchange before me, I’m more than aware that I shouldn’t be watching this or listening to this private moment, but I want to know if being an asshole is how he gets off, or if Cam is truly mad at Megan with a B.
A light flickers under the table and I grab for my phone. It’s another text from Maggie, same as before.
Maggie: Are you still out?
More soft, wet noises cover up the vibration. Thank God I turned my phone to vibrate earlier. With the screen covered with my palm, I try not to move or even breathe.
Cam is making a lot more noises now. Groaning. Swearing.
Why are his sounds turning me on?
Feeling a way I know I shouldn’t, I close my eyes, unable to watch anymore, but soon enough another thud against the door has me opening them just in time to see Cam’s back arch.
I know he’s coming by the way his body is reacting—the sounds he’s making, the curve of his spine, the sudden thrusts he makes into B’s mouth. “That’s it, right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”
Megan with a B swallows all of him to the last drop and from what I can see, she doesn’t seem to have a gagging issue.
Lucky bitch.
Right now, I’m more than a little hot and bothered. I know what I’ll be doing when I get home to relieve the ache I’m feeling.
Megan’s arm rises and she wipes her mouth. I wish I could hand her a napkin. Soon after, she gets to her feet and I can no longer see anything but the back of her red dress.
She’s the devil.
Or maybe he is?
“No,” says the very male, very drunk, voice.
No.
No to what?
Oh, God, I hope she doesn’t want to lay him down on the floor and fuck him, because if that happens, I’m so caught.
“No?” Megan with a B repeats in a questioning tone.
“No!”
“Wait. Let me get this straight—you’ll
let me suck your dick, but you won’t let me touch your mouth with my lips?”
Cam’s polished shoes shuffle. He pulls his shirt together. Tucks it. Zips his pants. Then he moves away from the red dress in the high heels and opens the door. “I’m done letting you do anything else, sweetheart.”
Well, that is just rude.
“Camden,” she calls, sounding a little frantic. “Give me a chance. I want to make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”
“There’s nothing I want from you—that’s the problem.”
Cam. Short for Camden.
I rather like it.
Too bad Camden is a prick.
“Then why let me do this?”
There is no answer, just his feet moving out of my sight.
“You’re a fucking asshole!” she cries after him.
Those polished, very male shoes come flying into the room.
Hell hath no fury like a man scorned.
He steps very close to her. I imagine him tipping her chin up to look her in the eyes, although I can’t see up that high. “Just so we’re clear on this—I owe you nothing,” he seethes, and this time when he leaves the room he doesn’t return.
Ouch!
“But I still want you,” she whispers, more to herself.
I think she’s used to getting what she wants, and this Cam is it. I wonder how far she’ll go to get him. Wish I could find out.
Soon after, Megan with a B stumbles, and then slumps onto the bench at the table across from me. I can see her face now.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Please don’t look this way.
If I can see her face, does that mean she can see mine?
It’s dark enough in the corner and I hope the glow of the pink lights helps to camouflage me, but if she looks hard enough, she’ll see me.
Sadness consumes her and her crying is as heavy as her breathing. She’s not looking anywhere but into her own lap. I feel a little sorry for her. I don’t know what she did to Camden, but it must have been very bad, or this is one really fucked-up sex game they’re playing.
Too bad for me I will probably never know because as if reborn, she wipes the tears from her eyes, takes a deep breath, and stands tall before she walks out of the room with a very steady stride.
Boy, does she put herself together quickly.
I could take a page or two from her “how to” book.
Hard to believe I just did that—watched a girl give a guy a blow job. Honestly, I didn’t see much, just the back of her head, but still, that has to count as anything but uptight.
Right?
When the coast is clear, I grab my phone, finally press send with the one word, yes, to answer Maggie, and make my way into the lounge. There is no sign of Megan with a B, and although I’m uncertain what Cam looks like, something tells me he’s gone too.
“Happy” is playing and my friends are onstage moving like Pharrell Williams. Practically skipping toward them, I hop up and join in. Moving my hips, snapping my fingers, clapping my hands, I have no trouble belting out this tune all the way through.
“Clap along, if you feel like that’s what . . .” I finish the song on a high note, with my hands together and a sense of being reborn myself.
What I watched in that private room makes me realize everyone has issues, and everyone has a way of dealing with them—beg, cry, get mad, say things that hurt, curl up into a ball, and even have sex. However you deal, at least you deal, and I’ve done my fair share of all of that.
I’m done dealing.
I’m ready for tomorrow.
Ready to start anew.
Be a hot-air balloon, just like the song says.
Within minutes of our grand finale, I’m drunkenly hugging my friends goodbye.
“Don’t forget to call us!” they holler as I get into a cab.
“I won’t,” I answer, closing the window, and then turning around to wave goodbye as the taxi pulls away.
Slumping against the door, reality dawns. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be on a plane to Orange County.
I can’t believe it.
I’m really doing it.
New start.
New life.
New me.
California, here I come.
Reader * Writer * Coffee-lover * Romantic
KIM KARR IS a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.
She grew up in Rochester, New York, and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She’s always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level, but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and recently decided to embrace one of her biggest passions—writing.
Kim wears a lot of hats: writer, book-lover, wife, soccer mom, taxi driver, and the all-around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read. One of her favorite family outings when her kids were little was taking them to the bookstore or the library. Today, Kim’s oldest child is twenty-one and no longer goes with her on these now rare and infrequent outings. She finds that she doesn’t need to go on them anymore because she has the greatest device ever invented—a Kindle.
Kim likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and happily-ever-afters. She loves to drink champagne and listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.
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HOLLYWOOD PRINCE
BEDWRECKER
NO PANTS REQUIRED
THE SET UP
TURN IT UP
SET THE PACE
TAINTED LOVE
BLOW
CRUSH
TOXIC
THE 27 CLUB
FRAYED
BLURRED
MENDED
DAZED
TORN
CONNECTED
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