Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (15 page)

Mica joined them on the bed, then made his way to Clare. His smile was wicked when he leaned down and kissed her. Those lips and tongue seemed to double everything Vaughn was giving her, and his palm grazed her breast, drawing her nipple tight, sending a bolt of pleasure down her body. She gasped against his mouth and he pulled away, looking entirely full of himself.

“You like what he’s giving you?” he asked her.

“Yeah.”

“You want to give me some of the same?”

She hesitated, unsure what he meant, but he moved before she could ask. So often, this happened with him. A vague threat of pleasure, never enough for her to anticipate what was coming. He rode that sharp edge bordering consent, but every time, she liked what she found on the other side.

What he wanted now thrilled her—he moved, straddling her ribs, leaning forward, bracing himself above her with a hand on the windowsill and the other on his erection. She helped him, guiding him to her mouth. She finessed the tilt of her chin until she found the right angle to take him deeper. Not all the way, but more than enough to earn herself a nasty moan and feel the taboo of this act sink way down inside her body, darkening and charging every cell. Two men: one serving, one taking. And she felt like two women, indulged and used at the same time.

That’s what makes this magic,
she thought. The duality of being two lovers at once. You weren’t just
with
two people, you could
be
two people, doing this. You could give and receive, spoil and be spoiled.

A fantasy hatched in the space between Vaughn’s lapping mouth and Mica’s softly thrusting cock.
Fuck me,
she imagined telling Vaughn. He’d rise to his knees, sink deep, and his hands would seek Mica’s back or sides for balance. Dark fingers digging into tan skin, and two cocks giving and taking pleasure. Two men, two voices, two clenched and needy bodies, all for her.

I could tell him to.

She could do as Mica would and simply give the order, and she very nearly did, until suddenly Mica slid from between her lips. He leaned back, belly and chest rising and falling with panting breaths, mouth open. His eyes were locked on hers, heavy-lidded and burning like coals.

She whispered, “That was so fucking hot,” and grinned up at him.

He smiled in turn, the expression a touch stoned and infinitely wicked.

“What’s next?” she asked.

He answered with his actions, leaning away to open a drawer in the bedside table and produce a strip of condoms. He detached one and tossed it onto the covers near Vaughn. “You on top,” he told his friend, then added, “Kneeling. She likes to look at you.”

Yes, she sure does.
Clare was rapt as Vaughn moved to take the order. He pushed his bottoms off and sat up on his heels, thighs spread wide beneath hers. She admired his chest and abs as she had during the drinking game and when he’d been stroking for them, and drank him in. Bigger than Mica, though each man was beautiful in his own way. Vaughn’s masculinity was more obvious, his build thicker, shoulders and hips wider, frame broader. His body was
blunt and gorgeous, whereas Mica’s was raw, lean, elegant, like a dancer’s.

She held Vaughn’s hip, squeezing the hard crest of muscle as he angled himself and slid in, deep, filling her with more than his flesh—with excitement, and just the thinnest streak of pleasurable misgiving, not knowing what came next.

Only one person did.

She looked to Mica, finding a half smile tensing his mouth and fire in his eyes. What did he see, exactly? A woman he wanted, she hoped, but more than that. A fantasy come to life—but hers or his?

Does it matter?
With one stunning man working hard between her legs and another mesmerized by the sight, the distinction was moot.

“What do you need?” Vaughn asked.

“Just show me what you like.” And in turn she’d show him what she liked. She moved her fingertips to her clit, circling slowly, enough to tease and excite but not enough to have her rushing toward the edge. She wanted to savor everything she had coming to her tonight. Wanted to keep this ache burning for as long as she could, and relish the sweet torture of it.

Mica, however, seemed to have other plans. He knelt beside her, stroking his palm from her cheek down her throat, between her breasts and over her belly. She submitted when he nudged her hand aside to take over its task. She thrilled to think how close his fingers were to his friend’s cock. Close enough to touch him each time those taunting fingertips dipped low.

And then he did so much more. Encircled the spot where Vaughn’s cock surged between her lips. Clare just about gasped.

You’re touching him.

Finally. Not his back, not his neck or his hip. His dick.

Vaughn huffed a strangled grunt but didn’t stop. He had to be feeling Mica’s rough fingers around him, his thick silver rings.

Have you felt this before? Have you felt
more
? Mica’s mouth, maybe?

She still couldn’t guess, and she also couldn’t deny that the thoughts excited her.

“He’s big, isn’t he?” Mica asked her, and she felt him squeezing from the way the edge of his hand tensed along her labia.

She swallowed, throat thick. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Okay, that settled it. If Mica hadn’t fucked his friend, it was now abundantly clear that he
wanted to.

Vaughn kept on working. Mica’s touch had changed him, though—tendons stood along his throat and his chest muscles were tight. His teeth were clenched. He was hard as sin inside her—and inside Mica’s fist—but he was edgy, too. Maybe he’d never felt this before. Maybe he had but had never planned for anyone to witness it.

As for Clare, it took everything hot about the sex and multiplied it tenfold. It was a taste of the truth she craved, a little sample of her burgeoning fantasy made real. Excitement had been simmering inside her before that brash move, but now it was at a rolling boil.

She spoke without meaning to. “Don’t stop.” It could’ve been meant for either man, and both obeyed. Mica’s hand stayed right where it was—right where she wanted to see it—while Vaughn’s hips only sped more quickly. He kept his eyes shut but his lips parted, and there was no mistaking how he had to be burning up inside his skin.

From me or from Mica?
From both, she hoped. From every taboo being explored in this bed tonight.

Mica’s attention moved from Clare’s face to what was happening between her and Vaughn and back again, his gaze hungry and sharp.

“That’s what she likes,” he told his friend. “Fast like that.”

It changed Vaughn’s expression, intensifying it to something resembling pain, nearly. But if what was happening was too much for him, his hips contradicted the hesitance—if anything, they moved faster, gliding his cock in and out of Mica’s grip as surely as it claimed Clare’s pussy.

“Oh God.” Clare heard her words, spoken without thought. The pleasure was building, intensifying deep in her belly, burning bright in her clit from nothing more than the incidental glance of Mica’s knuckle. What she could see right now was as erotic as anything being done to her body. She still had one hand on Vaughn’s shoulder, the other at the juncture of her hip and thigh. She brought the latter up to settle over her breast, palming first, then brushing softly across her nipple. Mica watched her hungrily, his tongue worrying the corner of his lips.

What pushed her over, she couldn’t say—his eyes, his brazen hand, Vaughn’s cock, her own teasing palm. But in a breath she was beyond chasing the pleasure. It was chasing her now, running her down, inevitable. She nailed her gaze to the scene between her legs and let it catch her, let it drag her into the orgasm moaning, back arching, hands shaking.

It was deep—deeper than she knew a climax could run, and it burned slow and hot and blinding. Not just a flash in her clit, but a roiling, clenching sensation that bloomed through her entire belly and up her spine, so intense it nearly frightened her. As it began to fade, she felt her back relax flat against the covers and her arms tremble. She heard her voice in the otherwise quiet room, awash with racing, panting breaths, sounding disbelieving.

When she stilled utterly, Mica finally let Vaughn’s throbbing cock go, and Vaughn withdrew. He had to be hurting, she thought hazily, eyeing that hard cock, thick and gleaming in the glow of the
Christmas lights. His chest was working, his breathing quick and steady. There was fire in those dark eyes, made as much of desperation as lust.

Mica moved to lie at her side, grinning, and kissed her temple. There was something deliciously condescending in the gesture that made her smile in return.

“That was hot,” she whispered to Mica, but loud enough for both of them to hear. “What you did. How you touched him.”

“To answer your question, he and I are more than just friends,” Mica said.

Clare glanced to Vaughn, still kneeling between her legs. His expression had gone sharp at Mica’s confession. Maybe nervous, maybe angry. Edgy, either way.

Cautious, Clare nodded and told Mica, “I figured, maybe.” Now that it was confirmed, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.

“Does that bother you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

She looked to Vaughn again. “Does it bother you,” she asked, “that I know?”

He made a face, the equivalent of a shrug. “I guess not. I mean, it feels naive to think there could be any secrets between the three of us, after everything that’s happened.”

“It’ll stay between us,” she told him. “I promise.”

He nodded tightly. “Appreciated.”

She glanced between him and Mica. “Can I ask now? What exactly you’ve done? What you . . . You know, what you are to each other, exactly?”

“Friends,” Mica said simply. “Friends only, who’ve crossed a few lines on a few drunken occasions.”

She turned to Vaughn and he nodded, looking calmer now. “That about sums it up.”

“And can I ask what you guys have done with each other?”

Vaughn immediately looked cagey. Mica spoke for him. “Not nearly as much as I’d like,” he said, smirking, and this reply seemed like a relief to Vaughn. He didn’t want her to know exactly what their history looked like, she realized, and Mica had kept it cryptic. She could respect that, even if the curiosity was chewing at her. She bet if Mica considered himself fifty-fifty, bisexually, Vaughn might identify himself as far more dominantly straight. Or at least be in denial about it all. Totally his prerogative.

“Good to know,” she told them, then turned to Mica, the ringmaster. “So, what’s next?” Please, let it involve both the men, now that the truth had come out. She knew they were intimate. Now let her see it.

“I think he’s earned some relief,” Mica said, eyes darting to Vaughn. The man looked like a poor imitation of patience, kneeling, pressing his erection to his belly with a flat palm. Though his face was stoic, his breathing gave him away, pumping his chest in taut, quick swells. His gaze moved between Mica and Clare. He spoke so little when the three of them were messing around, Clare thought. All at once she craved the sound of his voice—words, grunts, moans. Surely whatever came next would give her those things.

“You haven’t tasted him yet,” Mica said, stroking the nape of her neck.

“No.” She spoke to Mica but held Vaughn’s gaze. “Have you?”

She heard a smile in that wicked man’s voice. “I have.”

Vaughn swallowed. “He has.”

She wondered how much of a leap those two little words were for him. Had anyone ever known about these things? Had he told
anyone before? He hadn’t even told Clare tonight. Mica had. Perhaps these quiet words were his way of retaining some control of his own secrets, if that’s what their sexual history was—a secret.

Mica’s hand grazed down and up her arm, raising goose bumps. “I’ll show you what he likes,” he murmured. “You want to see that?”

“If he’ll let me,” Clare said, her eyes still locked with Vaughn’s. His shut then. In surrender, she thought. He both feared and wanted this, but Clare wanted more—his blessing.

“Could I?” she asked him, leaning forward, touching his calf.

He swallowed, nodded. Whispered, “Yeah. You can see.”

W
ith that proclamation, Vaughn’s eyes opened once more.

He didn’t look at Clare, not right away. Not when Mica moved to kneel at his feet, not when he clasped his erection. Vaughn kept those eyes closed for the most part, save for the odd peek he seemed to allow himself—tiny glimpses at his friend, stroking his cock. When Mica slid his lips over his crown, Vaughn’s head dropped back, mouth falling open. Clare felt her own lips part. When Vaughn lowered his chin, his eyes were open. They sought Clare’s for only a second before glancing away. But when he next looked to her, the gaze lingered, seeming edgy, nervous, reckless. She held that stare for a few breaths, mesmerized as much by the connection as the sex.
This is big for him.
Let him know you like it.
She turned her attention to the show being offered to her.
For
her.

She’d seen gay porn clips before, and found them arousing, if not quite her thing. Not a ton of pornography appealed to her, and the stuff that did usually featured a man with a great body and big hands, strong fingers digging into the ample flesh of a woman’s hips or back or butt. Nothing too kinky, just a little rough.

What was happening before her now looked nothing like that narrow-focus fare, but it had her panting all the same. Panting as Vaughn was, as his dick disappeared an inch more, an inch more, inside his best friend’s mouth.

It was because she knew them, she realized. She’d slept with both of them, and they meant something to her. Now she got to see what they truly meant to each other . . . and it was molten.

She moved to sit beside them, seeking a better view, and stroked Mica’s back between his shoulder blades as he worked.

Mica always looked good—behind a coffee shop counter, above Clare in bed, walking down the street, asleep with those arresting eyes shut and his face placid. But this . . . that stunning face, those lids closed, those sharp cheeks sharpened further with the effort . . . those hands on Vaughn’s thighs, fingertips digging, just as Clare liked. He’d never looked half this hot before.

He gave head like he ate pussy. Like it was a greedy, hungry act. She shivered when Vaughn touched him, holding his head, fingers slipping into his dreads, thumbs at his temples. When had this all started? On those trips, surely. Out in the desert. Who’d approached whom?

Like I can’t guess.
Her gaydar was usually pretty sharp, and Vaughn had never given off the vibe. Mica was the only man that Clare could imagine enticing her into a three-way. How strong were his powers of persuasion, exactly? Enough to rewrite a straight man’s identity?

After two minutes or more, Mica eased off his friend’s cock slowly, with a long, humming moan like he’d just sampled the most delicious delicacy. His smile bloomed wide and filthy and his eyes sought Clare’s as they opened.

She released a long breath, overheated. “Wow.”

“You want to do the same? Taste him? Suck him?”

Clare nodded. “I would.”

“I’ll tell you what to do. What he likes.”

“Okay.” Christ, that would be as hot as the feel of Vaughn’s cock in her mouth, hearing Mica’s filthy orders in that voice.

Mica moved aside and she took his place between Vaughn’s spread knees. His dick was still wet, and it shone in the glow of the Christmas bulbs. She touched him. Slow strokes from the root to the head, and she smiled up at him when he touched her hair. He didn’t hold her head—not quite. He plucked at a curl, cupped her ear. He seemed fascinated, she thought. Did he still feel naked, his secret exposed? Did that make it hotter, maybe?

“Taste him.”

She did as Mica ordered, taking Vaughn just inside her mouth. The air of the room had left his skin cool, but she’d soon remedy that.

“He likes it deep and slow,” Mica murmured. “Right up until the end. Suck him like you’ve been waiting days for this.”

She did. Took him in long, smooth gulps, slowly finding the right angle to make it deep, past her palate and into her throat. She couldn’t get there with every guy, especially not big ones, usually, but something about Vaughn fit. She took him smoothly, barely registering more than the faintest reflex. All the while she imagined Mica doing this to him, and the calm of that orgasm burned away like morning mist.

“Just like that,” Mica said. His hand was on her neck, fingers in her hair. He had to be touching Vaughn’s fingers as well, and that notion had her as hot as any other thing happening between the three of them.

What else have you two done to each other? More than this?
Would Vaughn go there? She couldn’t guess, but man, she wanted to know. Wanted to
see.

Vaughn was close in no time—she tasted his excitement in tangy
little bursts and felt it in the way his thighs clenched each time she took him deeply. Behind her, Mica was a mantra of dirty little whispered words.
“Yeah. Good. Deep. Like that.”
They thrilled her as much as the cock between her lips and the promise of whatever came after, as much as any glimpse of Mica’s bare body. She took every order, drank up every taste of praise. She let his excitement heat her like a hearth, reveling.

“Fuck.” This from Vaughn, and his hands were trembling against her skin. “Don’t stop, Clare.” And with that final word, this other man’s voice lit her anew in a way he hadn’t before. Had Mica ever used her name? she had to wonder. He’d called her
honey
, but to hear Vaughn say her name now, it couldn’t compare in its intimacy. A surge of connection zapped her, and there was ferocity charging her actions as she urged him home. He could feel it—he told her with his body, his muscles locking in surprise as she owned him in long, deep, hungry sucks, quicker than before.

“Fuck, please.”

Is that what you said when Mica did this to you?
And did he love every moment, or had it perhaps frightened him? Had he said his friend’s name, or shut his eyes and imagined a woman? Had he felt relief in the wake of the orgasm, or something far different? Shame or disgust? Unlikely, if they’d stayed this close.

Plus, sometimes shame makes it all burn a little brighter.
Or if not shame, then some kind of pleasurable edge, that I-don’t-know-if-I’m-ready-for-this surge of adrenaline she’d felt so often in bed with this man. She’d seen that same edge in Vaughn—seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it in the tight set of his body when Mica had first touched him tonight. And she felt it now. Tasted it, practically.

“Get him there,” Mica said.

Vaughn was beyond words, panting. His hand squeezed the
spot where her neck met her shoulder in quick, thoughtless pulses. His hips jerked, surely longing to thrust but held back by the barest facsimile of self-control. Clare kept on serving him, feeling more powerful than she ever had in bed. On fire. On
top
, despite being on her knees. She felt a moan rise up in her throat and let it out, a primal sound humming around Vaughn’s cock.

The hand on her shoulder froze, fingertips digging nearly too tight, then the rest of his body following suit, muscles locking up tight as he came. She stilled her mouth and hand, welcomed what he gave, and when that strong body went soft against the covers, she slid him free and swallowed.

There was something in her veins. Something hot and electric. Maybe something that Mica felt each time he took someone to bed, took someone past their limits. She felt powerful, and a little high. She sat up on her heels and looked to Mica, and that same heat flashed in his eyes as he smiled.

“Good,” he said simply.

Clare turned to Vaughn. His chest was working, his lips parted. His eyes opened and she rubbed his thick thighs from the knee to the hip. “That’s for you to say,” she told him. “Was it good?”

“Fucking amazing.”

Because of my lips, my tongue, my hands?
Or from Mica’s eyes and the memory of his mouth? Perhaps both of them. That was certainly the case for Clare, the times she’d climaxed between these two men.

And will he stick around?
This scene was fraught for Vaughn; she now had no doubt of that. She wouldn’t begrudge him leaving now, if it was all too much with the lust mania burned away.

But he surprised her.

He sat up and urged her to lie with him, gathering her against him chest to chest, her face at his throat. His sigh was supreme; satisfaction
made wordless sound. He scrunched and released her hair, again and again, and Clare chuckled at such an open show of appreciation.

“I’ll take that as approval.”

“Like I said—amazing.” He whispered it, sounding sleepy, then let her hair go to stroke her back with a grazing palm. “So what’s next?”

“I haven’t the faintest.” She craned her neck to look to Mica. The ringmaster had a plan, surely.

But Vaughn cut in once more. “You, next. You should have another one.” More than drowsy fondness charged his voice, now. There was lust behind the fog. It charged her in turn to sense something more than reluctant lust from this man. There was hunger in him, and right now, no hesitation.

Perhaps the truth had set him free, to be seen with Mica and not rejected for it. Whatever the case, Clare liked it.

“If you insist,” she said, and kissed her way down his neck, rubbed at his back. Mica could see both, and she hoped it excited him. He’d brought her and Vaughn together, after all.

“What do you want?” Vaughn asked.

“Mica,” she said. Vaughn probably needed some time to recover. “And you watching.”

The fingertips whispering down her back slid to her butt, squeezed softly. “You got it.”

She rolled over to seek Mica’s eyes.

“How?” he asked.

“You tell me.” Always, let him tell her. Order her, command her, shock and thrill her.

“You on top,” he decided.

“Okay.” Clare liked to think she was good on top. She could even come from it sometimes, with certain lovers, hands free.

She got to her knees, watching Mica’s naked body in the warm
sheen of the bulbs as he arranged a couple of pillows and lay back. Once a condom was in place she straddled him, then sank down slowly until he was deep, feeling thick and hot inside her.

“You feel good,” she told him.

“You look good.”

Clare turned to Vaughn. She wanted his voice as she wanted Mica’s—deep and rich and bossy. “Fast or slow?” she asked him.

He licked his lips. His cock was soft, but lust tensed his face and burned in his eyes all the same.

Have you fucked him, too?
she wondered in a breath.
Do you wish you had?

Fast or slow?

“Slow,” he decided.

Clare eased off one centimeter at a time until it was just Mica’s crown at her lips, then took him back inside. She did it like that for a minute, maybe two, letting both men see this act in all its explicit detail. With every pass her hips felt looser, the motions smoother. With every panting breath she coaxed from Mica she felt power surge as she undulated above him. She could see herself in her mind’s eye, every shadow, every inch of her body in that flattering cast; the contrast of pale skin and dark freckles, dark nipples, dark eyes. She felt sexier than she could ever remember, taking the most beautiful man in the world as he lay flat on his back.

“Faster,” Mica said, hands cupping her hips.

She looked to Vaughn and felt the gleam shining in her own eyes. “When he says
faster
,” she told Mica, “then I’ll go faster.”

Vaughn’s expression shifted, something dark shining in his gaze. Mischief and understanding. “Not yet,” he said.

Clare smiled at each man in turn and kept her hips working Mica in long, steady strokes. “Sorry. You heard the man.”

With that, something shifted in Mica. The glint in his eyes changed and his brows drew together in a little show of pleasurable distress. He went from the conductor to a helpless participant in a breath, and there was no mistaking this role excited him, too.

Mica’s torture was Clare’s, as well. The slow friction was a tease, ratcheting her tighter with every stroke but promising only frustration, no relief. She ached for Vaughn’s next order as badly as Mica surely did, but she kept her expression the picture of haughty patience, enjoying the role of tormenter.

Finally, Vaughn spoke. “What do you need, Clare?”

She met his stare, zapped by the intensity on that face. Everyone was wearing a new costume tonight, slipping into a different skin.

“Friction,” she said.

“Give it to her,” he told Mica.

He looked only too willing. His hands were at her hips, but now he freed one, laying it palm-up where their bodies met, offering her clit the feel of his rough fingertips each time she took him deep.

“Fuck.” She shut her eyes. That was all she needed, just a little something. She changed her motions, making them tighter and shorter, rubbing against him. She tried to keep it slow, but her body had other wants. It wanted to rush, to make this frantic and messy and get there quick—but that wasn’t her part. She was in control. Or pretending she was.
Use him,
she ordered herself.
But keep it together.