by Cara McKenna
He was right. And was it any great coincidence that it happened to be the first night when Mica wasn’t with them?
Though his hand lingered around hers, his lids had drifted shut once more. She twisted her own hand around so she could twine her fingers with his, and Vaughn’s eyes opened, his expression attentive.
“I’m going to tell you something I bet you’ve heard a million times,” she said.
“Okay.”
“You’re a good man. A really, really good man.”
He smiled, and it was a bashful gesture. His pleasure was open and humble. “Thanks.”
“You must hear that a lot. From girlfriends or whoever.”
“Now and then. Means more coming from my dad . . . and from you.”
More from me, than a girlfriend? “Why?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Why would it mean more coming from me?”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her throat or chin. “Well, because you know something really, really personal about me. Something nobody else knows besides Mica. Not my dad, or any other friend or lover. Not anybody.”
“Oh.”
“And it’s something I’ve felt conflicted about for ages. Something that’s really eaten away at me, over the years. Something I wondered if any woman would be okay with, if I ever decided to be honest about who I’ve been.”
Vaughn’s sexual relationship with Mica had never truly scandalized her—she’d been feeling too scandalous herself to be shocked. But he was a black man living in a working-class community, holding a blue-collar job. There was a lot of pressure to be a quote-unquote man’s man, and not much cachet to being edgy or experimental when it came to your sexuality. It was a sector of society where homophobia was still the norm, perhaps even encouraged. Most certainly safest.
“I don’t think any less of you, knowing any of that.” She laughed. “I mean, hell, I think it’s hot, if I’m totally honest.”
“Well, that’s something.”
She eyed him carefully, thoroughly, openly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to kiss or anything?”
He blinked. “Do you?”
“I think so. But I don’t really know where I want it to go. If I just feel really close to you right now, or if I want to feel something nice after the day I’ve had. Or if I want more. I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Messing around with some guys is like signing up to go skydiving. If you bothered getting in the plane you better fucking be ready to jump or else there’s going to be a big-ass tantrum to deal with.”
He laughed.
“Of course, you wouldn’t be like that, would you? You’ve been the picture of gentlemanliness from the minute I met you.”
“I don’t know if it’s that, so much as you’d be totally worth getting blue balls over.”
Clare’s turn to laugh. “Wow, and romantic to boot.”
“Anyhow, that’s a yes. I want to kiss, if you do. How it ends will just be a fun mystery to solve.”
“Okay. Deal.”
She scooted closer, biting her lip, feeling silly but excited. Their knees touched under the covers, then she slid her thigh just between his. His neck was warm as she cupped it with her palm, and his lips were as soft as ever when she brushed them with hers.
They started out sweet, nearly chaste, the tension ratcheting slowly, slowly, so very unlike all her encounters with Mica. It was as though they’d never done all the filthy things they had with each other, as though this was all a first date out of an alternate universe. In time the kiss deepened, until he was sampling her mouth in deep tastes, one hand holding her jaw, the other gently squeezing her ass.
She freed her mouth. “You feel good. Really good.” She rubbed his back and the swells of muscle at his shoulders, those stunning arms.
“Think you can go back to just one man, after everything we’ve done?” He was teasing, his tone warm.
“Happily, believe it or not. Two’s company; three’s a performance.” And though she’d been craving Mica’s focused attention before tonight, being with Vaughn alone felt like just as much of a treat. Not intimidating, as Mica’s attention could feel. Softer, easier. She could relax around Vaughn, and if he got her pulse pumping fast it’d be from what he could do to her body with his, not from her struggling to guess what he was thinking, planning, scheming.
She didn’t need to guess what Vaughn felt for her. She could see it in his eyes, and infer it from the way he treated her, spoke to her.
He didn’t have to love her; he had only to want her, like her, respect her. The simplicity and obviousness of those feelings added up to a relief she’d not anticipated. And a turn-on, to boot. What did Mica have that he didn’t, really? Nothing, except the mystery. The mystery and adventure had been what she’d needed as she said good-bye to her twenties, but it had taken only a few weeks of that chaos before the exhilaration soured to exhaustion. Right now Vaughn felt like everything she needed. A subtler strain of exciting—new and sexy, and with a side serving of kink, thanks to the experiences they’d already shared.
His kisses grew soft and lazy, or perhaps uncertain. He whispered, “I know we’re not skydiving here, but do you know what you’re after yet? If it’s just this, that’s fine.”
She cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so their eyes met. “We can do more. I’d like to do more if you would.”
“You have condoms?”
“Oh no. I don’t think I do, actually.”
“I don’t carry any around with me. I’m not that much of an optimist,” he added with a smile.
“Well, there’s still lots of no-good we can get up to without them.”
“True enough.”
“Want to just roll around and see what happens?” she asked.
“I’d love that.”
They necked and kissed and felt each other up, took turns being the one on top, leading the grinding. It was fun, like being a teenager again. Maybe that was what Clare had been missing, as much as sexual adventure. This feeling like sex was still new, when it had gone so stale for her after those three years with Davis.
“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt. He peeled it away, and Clare let him do her top. Her room was cool, a little too cool, but it only made the covers and his hands feel all the nicer.
As their legs met amid the sheets, something about it was as erotic and charged as all of those bare-it-all moments she’d found herself in with Mica. More intimate by miles, even in the near dark, half dressed and hidden by the blankets.
My blankets, she thought. Mica had never been in this bed. He’d always had her on his terms, on his timetable. He’d never gone out of his way, only invited her to come to him. And the effort had been worth it, sure, but this . . . This was a treat. Vaughn had brought her dinner, cheered her up, run through a rainstorm with her, and played a board game in his wet clothes to make her happy, probably never expecting it to end in sex. She wanted to reward him for all these things. Give him everything he deserved but never seemed to feel entitled to.
“You’re a real gentleman, you know that?” she asked him, stroking his chest.
“I try to be.”
“You are. Even the way we first wound up naked together. Even then, I could tell.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He kissed her, quick and flirtatious. “I pride myself on that. I actually felt kind of bad about how everything started. I didn’t know if it made you feel . . . I dunno. Used, maybe?”
“Only in the nicest way possible. I think we all used each other. It’s what I was after, really.”
“It’s not how I like to make a woman feel, but it did seem like you were into all that. The craziness of what he had planned.”
“I was, but now this feels just as good. Quieter, and more intimate, wit
h just two. More . . . manageable, and like less of a big to-do. I needed the adventure, but now what I want is something quieter. Simpler.”
“I’m simple, that’s for sure.”
She nudged him to admonish the put-down. “Only in the nicest way. I’d like to photograph you sometime.”
“I’m West African and Haitian—not exactly the dramatic mismatch you’re after for your show.”
“Not for my show. Just for me.” Just to look back on fondly, to help her remember this man who was so simple on his own and yet so utterly complex with his best friend nearby. He was giving her memories that ranged from sweet to pornographic, and she wanted to take his portrait, to guarantee this face would never fade into obscurity, blurred by time and forgetfulness.
They went back to kissing, and his mouth was heaven on hers, his strong and stubbled jaw the perfect contrast to those soft lips. His hands stroked her side, a taunting, sweet touch that steadily migrated north until his palm was on her breast. She hummed her approval, raked her nails lightly along his scalp.
“You’re so goddamn sexy,” he murmured, laughing softly.
She traced his smiling lips with her thumb. “What’s so funny?”
“Just that I’m here. With you, like this.”
“And why’s it funny?”
“I wouldn’t have thought you could walk it back like this—go from three-ways to board games and just messing around this way. Plus, I figured you only had eyes for Mica.”
“I wouldn’t have slept with you just to turn his crank. I wanted you, too.”
“And I wanted you, pretty much the second we met. I was like, Damn, he beat me to her. I totally would have tried to get myself introduced, if you’d just randomly been at that party, not with him.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. You were the hottest girl there. Hot, pretty, cute, whatever. I would’ve probably drunk a little too much, trying to work up the nerve to ask you out, then had to leave my car there for the night and walk home.”
She giggled, charmed. “I’d’ve been honored. And I’d have said yes, if you’d asked me out.” Asked her out . . . Mica had never done that. Only asked her over. She was thirty, after all. A last taste of reckless abandon had been great, but she was old enough to think she deserved to be asked out. Taken on a date, wooed a little. The grown-up stuff wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t as boring as she’d let herself think it was, hungover from that last serious relationship. There was something to being treated like a woman and not a girl.
“Would you still like to go out sometime?” she asked him.
“I would, yeah, if you’re up for it. Dinner, dancing, walk along the river or whatever. And I’ve got about one big, impressive, break-the-bank date in me before it all dissolves into tacos and Netflix.”
“I like tacos and Netflix. I don’t get much fancier than what we did tonight. Until my gallery opening, that is—then I’ll be all about the champagne and a new dress and a manicure. But until then, I’m easy.”
“You’re great. I’d like to treat you sometime.”
With an expensive dinner and wine and maybe flowers, he had to mean, but she had other plans. “Treat me tonight, if you want. Right here, in this bed.”
He grinned, his eyes crossing charmingly as he studied her own smile. “Any requests?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. You’re really good with your mouth.”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he announced, already tossing back the covers, making his way down her body. He gripped her hips and turned her forcefully onto her back, making her laugh.
“You don’t waste time.”
“Not when I’m excited to reach my destination,” he agreed, and he fumbled beneath the covers to find and tug free her drawstring.
He gave her his mouth, those talented lips and tongue, the tease of his thumbs as they traced her labia, the thrill of his fingers as he eased two inside her, slow enough to invite a protest—she wouldn’t issue one.
She said his name. Whispered it, sighed it, moaned it as he brought her to orgasm after ten exquisite minutes. He didn’t need instructions, didn’t need assistance. She wouldn’t have minded offering up either, but it was a bonus that he didn’t require them.
“You’re really, really good at that,” she informed him, giving his arm playful slaps as he lay down beside her. “Like, crazy good.”
“I try.”
“Like, the best I’ve ever had.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa indeed.” She would have said a week ago that Mica had been the best, but there was something about Vaughn’s doing that . . . He wasn’t aggressive the way his best friend was. It wasn’t a scary-hot ride Clare held on for dear life through, but more of a luxury. A treat. He left her panting in a far gentler way, from pure pleasure instead of adrenaline.
“So,” she said, turning onto her side so their knees flirted once more. She stroked the sparse hair between his pecs. “Your turn. What would you like to do?”
“It won’t take much. Want to kiss, and you could touch me? And I could maybe touch your breasts?”
“Easy.” Refreshingly so. “Just tell me faster, tighter, whatever.”
She didn’t have to, it turned out. Just as when he’d given her head, his sounds and subtle motions were all the instruction she needed. They kissed as she stroked him between their bodies, and when his mouth grew distracted and moans began sounding from deep in his chest, she kept up that speed and intensity. He cupped her breasts, kneading softly, hips pushing his cock to meet her grip, faster and less graceful the closer he got to orgasm. Eventually he gave up on the kissing. He put his mouth to the soft spot just below her ear, breathing heavily, grunting as things turned more frantic between them. He said her name when he came, and she caught his surrender in her cupped palm.
After a moment’s recovery he pulled away with a sigh. “I’d be the gentleman you think I am and sacrifice my shirt,” he said, glancing down where her sullied hand was resting, “except I don’t have a spare.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Clare rolled over and left the bed, grabbing a towel off the closet doorknob. She wiped her hand, folded it, offered it to Vaughn. When they were tidied, she tossed it in her hamper. They flopped onto their backs with matching exhalations to stare up at the dark ceiling, striped by the streetlight sneaking through the blinds.
“Well, that wasn’t how I’d pictured this evening going,” Vaughn said at length.
“Me neither. I mean, I figured there was a chance I’d wind up having sex with you, I guess, but not like this.”
“No, not like this . . . It’s weird, but . . . Does this actually feel almost more crazy to you? Or is it just me?”
“Crazier than if there were three of us? Yes and no. Weirdly more exotic.” And other things—more intimate, more genuine. Mica might keep her on edge, but tonight had left her feeling vulnerable in a completely different way. “Funny how quickly one adapts to having bonkers sex, I guess, that now third base with just two people in the bed could suddenly seem racy, right?”
“Exactly.”
They fell silent at that, but in the dark of her bedroom, Clare felt Vaughn’s warm hand envelop hers, then squeeze. She squeezed back. “Good night. Hope you sleep well.”
“You, too. Thanks for having me over.”
“Are you kidding? Thanks for turning my day around. You may not have gotten my job back, or fixed my delusional love life, but . . . this was perfect, really. The best possible ending to a truly shitty day. Or any day, for that matter.”
“Good. Glad I could help.”
She took a little leap of familiarity, turned onto her side, and slung an arm across his waist, smiling to herself as she did. “Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.”
She had no doubt of that. Though which man would occupy those dreams . . . Well, s
he still didn’t know that for sure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If either Vaughn or Mica did indeed rule her dreams that night, Clare couldn’t say. She slept more deeply than she had in weeks, remembering nothing of her subconscious’s preoccupations, be they sexual or professional or of any other slant. She woke when the sun began slipping through the blinds, finding Vaughn’s body close but not touching hers. He was on his back, and she watched his chest rise and fall and admired the gleam of the early sunlight on his bare arm and edging his profile.
After a few minutes’ laziness she slipped from the covers without rousing him. The apartment felt cold . . . or perhaps she’d just grown too accustomed to sleeping alone in that bed.
She crept back into her room after a shower, finding Vaughn still asleep and the sun now well past risen. The clock said it was eight thirty. Had he said he wasn’t working this morning? She thought so but wasn’t positive. It seemed kinder to wake him than to risk letting him oversleep. Once dressed, she climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him, gently jostled his arm.
He feels good, she thought, enjoying the warmth and heft of that arm, firm even at rest. When he didn’t rouse, she shook him again, a little more roughly. “Vaughn?”
Finally, those brown eyes fluttered open. He looked confused for a breath, then surprised. He sat up with a charming grunt and ran a hand over his short hair. “Hey. Morning.”
“Morning. It’s eight thirty and I couldn’t remember if you were working.”
“Not until late. I’ve got another overnight.”
“Then by all means, keep sleeping.”
He took in her clothes. “You look about ready to start your day.”
“Not at all—just figured I’d make myself presentable while I had the chance. Nobody wants to witness my hair first thing in the morning. I was thinking of making breakfast. Do you want to stick around for that? No worries if you don’t, if you need to head out.”