Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (7 page)

There was a bunch of shouting on-screen, whisking Clare out of the moment just long enough to remember they weren’t alone. She pulled back, flushed, and let Mica go. She felt silly and overcome, and surely he could see that in her dopey grin.

We should go to your room,
she mouthed.

“In a minute.” And he was kissing her again, hungry and needy. No red-blooded woman could possibly say no to that.

Mica’s hand crept higher, his warm palm cupping her breast, stealing her breath. A flash of worry chased the bloom of arousal.
We’re not alone on this couch.

It was dark, though, and Clare’s buzz made it hard to feel scandalized. A glance in Vaughn’s direction said he wasn’t paying them any attention. The wine was making it very difficult to care . . . and to be perfectly honest, there was something a little wicked, a little hot, about going there with Vaughn sitting only feet away. With most any other guy, she doubted that would be the case, but Mica’s sexuality was so bold, so provocative . . . it fit, somehow. And Vaughn seemed like the type of man who’d have no trouble excusing himself or calling out his friend if things got too weird for him.

As for Clare, the idea had her hot. Her cheeks were burning, her blood pulsing thick and fast from both nerves and excitement.

“Your room,” she said again, rubbing Mica’s arm.

He whispered, “Do you like him?”

Her hand stilled. “What?”

“My friend. Do you like him?”

Upended, unsure what precisely he meant, she said, “Sure.”

“You want him?”

No reply came, not for long seconds. “I’m not . . . I don’t know.” She knew Vaughn was kind and respectful, and handsome. But what Mica was getting at . . . Shit, she wasn’t thinking straight. The wine had left her warm and easy. If all Mica was after was a bit of kinky dirty talk, she wasn’t opposed.

“Want him how?” she asked.

“You want to kiss him?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe a little. Does that make you jealous?” she teased. “Or . . . or did you want to see that?”

By the light of the TV, he smiled. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s all up to him anyway,” she said.

“Ask him, then.”

She flushed, bit her lip. “I couldn’t.”

“You could. Just turn. Catch his eye. Ask him.”

“Is that a dare?”

“If that excites you, sure.”

Fuck, did it? She couldn’t guess. All she knew was that the more they talked about it, the less insane—and the more thrilling—the idea felt. Mica had a way of making the filthiest, most
wrong
things sound irresistible.

His voice went low, all but growling against her throat. “It excites
me
.”

She swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to ask.”

“You just turn,” he said again, “and you meet his eyes, and you tell him, ‘I want to kiss you.’”

Clare blushed. If she did it—if she wasn’t rebuffed and embarrassed and left never wanting to come by this apartment again—and if Vaughn was into it, where would this end, exactly? With Mica getting his kinky thrill and hustling her down the hall to his room? Or somewhere altogether unexpected?

Unexpected is exactly what I’ve been feeling deprived of.
Playing it safe had left her with three years’ worth of regrets, whereas throwing caution to the wind on Thursday had given her the best sex of her life.
Impulsivity: one; self-control: zero.

“You want me to dare you?” he whispered.

“No.”

“You want me to ask him for you?”

Another warm flush as she tried to imagine it. Imagine what Mica would even say to his friend. At length, she committed aloud. “I’ll do it.”

That smile deepened, carving lines beside his lips. “Good.”

But not without another dose of courage,
she thought, reaching for her wine.

Vaughn glanced to their end of the couch as she set the glass back on the table. His own tumbler was empty, and it had been his second. He was feeling the whiskey, no doubt. “I’ll, um, I’ll get out of your way, I think.”

And faced with now-or-never and her nerves muted by the alcohol, Clare was startled to hear the response waiting on her lips.

“Could I kiss you?” Her eyes held his, and the words seemed to
float in the shadows between them. A bold question, spoken softly, warmly. Hopefully, even—she heard longing in her voice.

His brows rose. “Kiss me?” He looked past her to Mica, and Clare could only imagine what that man’s expression must be saying. Something filthy. Something shameless.

She nodded. “Only if you want to.”

His mouth closed, opened. He blinked, and she admired his eyes, those dark lashes she’d not really noticed before. If not for Mica’s energy eclipsing everything around him, she might have met Vaughn at that party and gone home thinking he was the best-looking man she’d seen all night.

“So, do you want to?” She couldn’t say who this woman was, operating her lungs and lips and tongue. It was as though desire had turned corporeal, stolen her body and voice. No regard for what was appropriate, no cares beyond the wants of her mouth, hands, sex. “Would you kiss me?”

Another glance at Mica, a pause, a nod. “Yeah,” he said softly, lids dropping low. “I would.”

She stretched her arm along the back of the couch, angled her legs, welcomed him to come close. Their eyes met, and she saw her own wine-tinged uncertainty reflected back at her. But there was more. Curiosity behind the hesitance, and yeah, she felt that, too. Mica wasn’t her boyfriend, after all—far from it. She wasn’t worried about doing something that might derail or redefine a relationship.

She could already feel Mica’s heat and energy at her back, and now his fingertips joined the scene, alighting softly between her shoulder blades. He didn’t urge, didn’t push. Merely touched, letting her know,
I’m here. I’m watching. I’m excited.

Vaughn edged closer and their knees brushed. She stroked his collar, studied his mouth. Those stunning white teeth, framed by
soft-looking lips. A flash of pink as his tongue wet them. He leaned in and she did the same.

For a moment, Clare barely registered the kiss. All she was aware of was Mica’s watching, and for half a minute it was a performance, not an intimate exchange. Then something changed. Something fell aside, and in a blink her attention shifted, captured by Vaughn’s mouth.

His lips were full and lush, and they tasted of whiskey. She let him know she liked this, putting a hand to his face. His jaw was rough with the day’s stubble, but other parts were soft—his cheek, his earlobe, his temple. As she touched him, his kisses deepened. Not dirty like Mica’s, not that bold, but sensual and taunting in their own way. Mica’s sexuality was a brush fire; Vaughn’s was a smoldering hearth.

She tilted her face, invited more. A hand warmed her side, and it took her a moment to realize it was Mica’s. She shivered, and heat rushed in as that pleasant chill subsided.
This is so wrong. So wrong and so fucking hot.

Vaughn cupped her neck, his broad palm cool from his glass. With every stroke of their tongues, every exhalation that mingled between them, his hesitation faded, until she could feel the excitement humming deep in his chest. Mica’s hand slid lower, kneading her hip. She felt its mate at her neck, pushing her hair aside. His breath caressed her nape, then came his lips. Two men’s mouths on her. Two men’s heat stoking hers. Two men’s desires, at once intimidating and empowering.

She reached back to run her hand over Mica’s hair, fisted it softly.

“You like how he kisses?” he murmured, loud enough for them both to hear.

“Yes.” She spoke it right against Vaughn’s mouth, and felt his body tense in reply.

Mica’s palm on her hip rose and slid forward, closing her breast in its heat. The other was still in her hair, and she wondered if the two men’s fingertips were touching. With every sweep of Vaughn’s tongue, every soft squeeze of Mica’s hand, she was sucked deeper into the lust, so deep that the wine was moot, its chemical intoxication
nothing
compared to this.

She was all but panting when Vaughn drew back, stealing that heavenly mouth. “Where’s this going?” he whispered. His voice was thick, distracted. Sexy.

“I don’t know.” She suspected one person in this room
did
know, however. She suspected the man at her back knew exactly where he wanted this to end up. She craned her neck and met Mica’s gaze.

“You like him?” he asked, dark eyes full of heat.

“Yeah.”

“You want him?”

She swallowed and spoke the truth. “I think I do.”

“You should have what you want,” he said simply, and lowered his mouth to her throat once more. It snatched her breath for a moment; then she sought Vaughn’s eyes and asked, “Do you want that?”

“If you do. If you’re not too drunk, I mean.” He looked flustered, some clarity returning to brighten his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know.” His hesitance couldn’t be faulted. The proposition implied that he’d shortly be getting naked with his best friend, and that didn’t seem like a leap the average man would take lightly.

“I’m not drunk,” she said, realizing it was true. She’d had a large glass—enough for a healthy buzz, enough to dull her inhibitions, but not enough to rob her of her judgment. “And I do want that. You, and him.”

Vaughn didn’t reply except to kiss her. Deep and dirty, with more passion and aggression than she’d yet felt from him—a taste of what Mica transmitted, when they did this. She imagined all that lust that radiated from his skin, doubled. Two mouths, four hands on her. Two excited male bodies. Two cocks.

This is really about to happen.

And as that fact sank in, she didn’t think they could get there soon enough.

T
his is really happening,
Clare thought as they rose from the couch.
This is actually, truly, really about to happen.
She’d been wishing for this—or something like it, something wild, something
new
—ever since she’d found herself a single woman again. No, before then. Maybe she’d never fantasized about two men, necessarily, but she’d been antsy for a taste of the taboo for far too long. And here she was at the start of an entirely new decade, and she knew if she didn’t go for it, she’d regret it forever.

“Yours or mine?” Mica asked.

She couldn’t guess what he meant, so lost in the sensations thundering through her body, heat and nerves and pure, reckless lust. No matter—the question had been aimed at Vaughn.

“Whichever.”

“Yours, then,” Mica said.

Vaughn’s room,
she realized as Mica led her to the threshold. Vaughn’s
bed.
Why did that seem to square the kinkiness of the entire proposal? she wondered.

Because Mica’s pushy.
He’d pushed Clare at times, if not
aggressively, but tonight he was pushing his friend. Pushing the three of them straight into Vaughn’s private space. Whatever happened tonight would change his room and his bed forever, Clare imagined, infuse this place with indelible memories. And she bet Mica was after exactly that.

Mica let her hand go and entered first, turned on a soft lamp. She stepped inside, followed by Vaughn, who stood by, expression guarded and edgy, hot. Nervous. Clare felt a kinship with him, united in their excitement and uncertainty as they waited to see where Mica took them.

Vaughn’s neatly made bed was bigger than Mica’s—a queen—and his room was far homier, with framed photos on the painted walls, an easy chair in one corner beside a bookshelf. Mica’s room could’ve belonged to a college student, but Vaughn’s was the territory of a grown man.

Mica beckoned her to the bed with a curled finger, and she sat at its edge. Crouching before her, he raised her leg by the ankle and slipped her sandal off. The other. There was something to that gesture, something trapped between erotic and sweet that—coming from this man—promised unmistakable depravity. Like he was unwrapping a present, only so that he might hand it to his best friend, that they might devour her together. That promise was echoed in his eyes when he glanced up to meet hers. Though he didn’t smile, didn’t smirk or grin, she felt that wickedness all the same.

And damn, he looks good on his knees.

She touched his hair, then trailed her fingertips along his throat, down to his collar. She gave it a single soft tug, inviting him to show her what came next. Somewhere at her back, Vaughn was no doubt watching. The thought sent heat chasing up her spine and neck to flush her cheeks.

Mica slid his hands over her calves as he straightened, and she scooted back, making room for him to crawl onto the bed atop her. He kissed the skin above her breasts, and as her fingers sought his hair, she looked to Vaughn. His attention was on them, face unreadable as he slid his hoodie’s zipper down his belly. She shivered when he shed the jacket, revealing the strong, long shape of his body beneath his tee.

He tossed it aside and their eyes met. “You sure this is what you want?” he asked softly.

The question sobered her, but not with misgiving. With relief. It was something Mica never would have asked, and it upended her in a purely pleasurable way. Even in the midst of wild, carnal impulse, some bit of Vaughn was tuned in to needs that went beyond those of a woman’s body.

She nodded, smiled. “I am. Are you?”

He swallowed, his gaze flicking to Mica. “Yeah.”

Clare, too, looked to the driver of this evening’s kinky turn of events. “Condoms?”
Plural,
she thought with a zap as the word left her lips.
Jesus Christ.
She was about to have a three-way.

“Right back.” Mica got up and headed for the door, leaving Clare and Vaughn alone.

She offered a shy smile and he came to join her, sitting at the bed’s edge. She took her headband off and tossed it on the bedside table, then reached down, touching Vaughn’s toes through his sock. Her last chance to speak candidly, before Mica took them wherever it was he had in mind.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she told Vaughn.

“No?”

She shook her head, eyes darting between his. She could sense caution in this man, but she didn’t want it. Didn’t need him worrying she was making a drunken mistake. “No, but I’m excited to.” She
let her mouth tell him she wanted all of this in more than words—with a kiss that started out soft but grew deep and sensual after a breath.
I want you,
she told him with this kiss.
Both of you.
Whatever that might look like, she was ready and eager to find out.

Vaughn felt familiar, somehow. He was easy to kiss, easy to be kissed
by
. Full lips, firm tongue. She felt him relax, and she knew just how he’d be in bed, from this kiss. He wouldn’t rush. He’d take his time, put a woman’s pleasure first, invest an hour in the foreplay if that’s what was needed and enjoy every second of it. He was smooth. Not smooth like a player, but rather like his sexuality was a soft, sultry summer breeze, a contrast to the sizzling lightning strike that was Mica’s.

Behind them footsteps neared. She kept kissing Vaughn, knowing it would turn Mica’s crank to find them this way. She heard a box being set on a table, then the bed dipped at her back. Now his hands were on her waist, lips on the side of her neck, just like when they’d been on the couch. Two men’s mouths, so close. Soon, two men’s bare bodies. As Vaughn’s tongue teased hers, she wondered what the odd man out would do, while she was with the other. Kiss her? Or touch himself, maybe? Just watch?

With Mica here, the questions soon dissolved. He left no room for theorizing, always ready to
do.

“Starting without me?” he asked, stroking her neck.

She let Vaughn’s mouth go with a final deep taste and turned to smile at Mica. “Never.”

“Shall I show him what you like?” It was barely a question, his body urging hers back on the bed until her head found a pillow and he braced above her, looming.

“You think you know, after one night?” She knew the tease would excite him, as would the challenge of it.

“I think you know, too,” he countered, smiling. “Though first things first.”

First things turned out to be her clothes. Deft fingers made quick work of her blouse’s buttons, and he spread the top open. She felt both men’s eyes as surely as she felt the cool air on her skin. Her fly was next, its button plucked free, zipper lowered. She lifted her legs to let him peel the snug denim away, and welcomed his weight when he lowered his body to hers.

His kisses had never failed to thrill her, but tonight was something else. There was a current running through him, a contagious intensity, blindingly bright.
Because of Vaughn.
Maybe he liked to be watched. Or to watch, himself. Maybe he liked to share. Maybe the two men had even done this before, she realized, shocked by the possibility. Whatever the case, she welcomed his kinkiness. She’d liked it the first time they’d hooked up. Her own kinks were so subtle, so French vanilla—the occasional feel of a man’s strong hand around her wrist, a bossy voice, a punishing set of hips. But sampling Mica’s racier proclivities was exciting. She liked what his brazen desires did to him, the way they’d made his eyes wild and the sex rough, last time. She wondered what having Vaughn here would do to him. Make him straight-up crazed, maybe. A girl could hope.

As they kissed, he brought his center to hers, stroking his erection between her legs with long, slow rolls of those talented hips. She opened wider, inviting it all, and reached low to palm his ass, massage the muscle there. The touch spurred him, speeding his movements and drawing a faint growl from his throat.

“I feel good to you?” he asked.

“Amazing.” Hard and long, even blunted by his jeans.

He turned to look to Vaughn. “You’re real big, aren’t you?”

Vaughn didn’t reply, his mouth open and his eyes glassy. His palm cupped his fly. Clare swore she could feel his heartbeat, feel
that pulsing as surely as he did in his own hand right now.
How do you know?
she wondered, thinking of Mica’s words.
How do you know he’s big? Have you two done this before?
Or had they merely seen each other naked while off on their summer climbing trips?

“Bet you’d like to see him,” Mica said, smiling down at Clare, then kissed her. “Find out if he’s bigger than me.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe he can take you even deeper,” he breathed, and nipped at her lip. “But I’ll take you first.”

“Whatever you say.”

He pushed up, letting her see his grin as it spread across his beautiful face. “Good answer.”

She drew her hand up his long back, bringing the hem of his shirt with them. He stilled, sat up, and stripped it away for her, glorious in the glow of the reading lamp. He seemed to bask in her attention just as she basked in the spectacle of his body, unashamedly hungry for her eyes.

“Have you missed my mouth?” he asked.

She nodded against the pillow, hair mussing. “I have.”

He dropped to his elbows, bringing his face close so their noses touched and she could all but taste the wine on his lips as he spoke. “My tongue?”

“Yes.”

“Shall I show him?”

She swallowed. “Yeah. Show him.” She wanted his mouth, yes, but she wanted to see Vaughn, too. Wanted to watch his face, hoping to find lust there. Wanted to see where his eyes would go. Wanted to know if he’d join them—if he’d kiss her, or speak, or strip, or touch himself. If he’d ask for a turn, perhaps, and let her feel those soft lips on her most intimate skin.

Mica stood from the bed, just long enough to shed his socks and
jeans, then returned to kneel before her in his shorts. He had an elastic around his wrist, and he reached back, drawing his dreads into a bunch. His arms flexed with that tiny task, gaze fixated on her belly or panties, all of it together forming a white-hot moment, drawing her tight with anticipation.
He’s preparing to feast,
she thought. Why was that so fucking exciting? She liked him predatory, she registered with a bolt. She wanted him hungry for her, wanted to get stalked and taken down and devoured.

He drew her legs together, slid her boy shorts down her legs. She glanced to Vaughn. He was kneeling on the bed at a polite distance, attention on her body.

Come closer. Kiss me. Say something in that deep, smooth voice.

But he didn’t. He was their audience, just now. Rapt but controlled. Cautious.

Maybe they
haven’t
done this before.
A part of her hoped not. A part of her hoped tonight was a first for all three of them.

No, not for Mica.
That man had had three-ways before; she could just tell. But Vaughn . . . Maybe he was in this boat with her, tonight. A person lost their virginity not once but a thousand times throughout their life. The first time they touched themselves, made themselves come. The first time they had sex, the first time they went down. The first time they experienced any number of carnal milestones. Tonight, perhaps both she and Vaughn were surrendering the same scrap of innocence, sharing a lover for the first time in their lives.

Mica eased her legs wide, hunkering down. He took a deep, dirty breath, smelling her, and sighed with satisfaction. She fisted his hair, earning a gasp. Like last time, the little hit of control lit her up, made her bold.

“Show him,” she said. “Show him what I like.”

She got his lips first, in a soft and somehow nearly chaste kiss, a
whisper against her clit. She shivered, squeezing his hair tighter. A firmer sweep of those lips across the same spot, then lower, his soft skin dragging against her folds.

She’d felt just this, not even a week ago, and told herself she’d never forget how amazing he’d been. And yet she had forgotten, somehow—his mouth shocked her, like she’d never felt this before. He was lapping at her deeply, feasting just as he had the first time, making her feel like prey and worship object at once. She held his head, let the sensations drive her crazy, then looked to Vaughn. His own mouth was open, and his gaze moved to her face when she turned. She smiled, feeling the strangest mix of shy and shameless. She’d never done this before, been watched this way, but the pleasure left her wanton. Wild.

Two men’s mouths. I want two men’s mouths.

“Would you kiss me?” she asked Vaughn.

He nodded, then moved with purpose. Had he been waiting all this time to be invited in? He kept his clothes on. Clare was all but naked, and as he lay beside her, his soft shirt brushing her bare belly, that preylike sensation deepened. He slipped an arm beneath the pillow under her head and lowered his mouth to hers.

Soft kisses, light, sensual, to contrast the ravenous ones working her pussy. She kept one hand on Mica’s head and brought her other palm to Vaughn’s face.

Who am I? Who is this woman?
She was no one Clare could say she’d met before last week. No one who’d existed before Mica had conjured her from some dark, greedy, pure place deep in Clare’s body or brain.