Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (8 page)

I can’t say who she is. Only that
I like her.

And being in this skin . . . She’d never be the same, ever again. She could never go back, and she knew she’d never want to.

Wreck me,
she thought, feeling Mica’s tongue, lips, breath.

Ruin me,
she thought, as Vaughn took their kiss deeper, bolder.

Already spoiled, she wanted more. More skin, more of that exciting male smell. She freed her mouth, spoke against Vaughn’s lips. “Take your shirt off.”

He backed off and peeled his tee away. Fuck, he looked exactly how he should. Like a man with a gym membership, plus a job that gave him a good reason to keep fit. Ready and strong.

As he returned to her, she whispered, “You look good.”

“You look fucking amazing.” His gaze moved down her body, and if the sight of his best friend hard at work between her legs gave him any pause, he didn’t show it. “Can I touch you?”

“Of course.”

He rested his weight on one forearm and let his other hand drift down her body, fingertips grazing her cheek, her throat, between her collarbone and her breasts, to her belly and navel, where she squirmed involuntarily. When he froze there, she smiled.

“It’s fine. I’m just ticklish.”

His touch drifted back upward, and even with everything Mica was doing to her, this subtler contact blazed. It was all about the contrast with these two men. Slow and curious, fast and hungry. One gentleman, one devil.

The next time Vaughn’s fingers met her chin, he asked, “Could you take your bra off?”

“Sure.” It was easy enough, a front closure. She twisted the clasp free and let the cups fall aside to join the jumble of her half-shed blouse. Hers were neither big nor small, as breasts went, but she knew he liked what he saw. A taste of Mica’s hunger burned in Vaughn’s eyes now, and she felt its heat smoldering in her own body. He cupped her, one breast and then the other, let his palm brush
across her nipple, sensation blooming bright. She caught her breath, blew it out slow. Flashed another smile to tell him,
It’s good. Keep going.

He dropped his head and shoulders low, seeking her mouth. As they kissed, she covered his hand cupping her breast with hers, coaxing firm squeezes to the rhythm of Mica’s flickering tongue. She’d never felt so indulged, and it roused something fierce, filled her with visions of returning the favor, pleasing these two men. Nearly anything they asked for, she’d give. Anything they asked for, she’d
try
. Hell, she might make some requests herself. Maybe Vaughn taking her from behind, Mica kneeling before her, filling her mouth. The thought flushed her cheeks.

Mica would want something filthy, she knew that much, but with Vaughn here—the picture of respect, the type to solicit consent—she trusted the scene itself on a far deeper level. She held his head with her free hand as they kissed, and she imagined him inside her. Taking her. She imagined how he’d be. To start—slow, sensual, erotic. Then she let herself imagine how he might
get,
once his turn came. Would she catch a little glimpse of his friend, as the urgency took over? Would she get to see this steady and respectful man grow wild as the pleasure mounted?

Will he even get a say?
she had to wonder. Or would Mica conduct the whole thing? That bossy mouth of his would soon be free once again, free to issue orders . . . What might he say to Vaughn, as he watched the other man with her?

Faster, deeper, harder.
Those were the obvious instructions, yet Mica was far from obvious.

Guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.

The pleasure was strung taut between her nipples and clit like a current, a pulsing heat snaking down her arms and legs, warming
her everywhere at once. Warm—then all at once cool. Mica’s mouth abandoned her, his fingers taking over, sliding deep. She bucked.

“Show her,” he said, his voice darkening the room. “Stroke for her.”

She shivered and felt Vaughn tense in turn. For her it was a frisson of excitement, because nothing she’d ever known thrilled her quite the way Mica’s dirty talk did. For Vaughn . . . she couldn’t guess what he was feeling, being issued orders by his friend. But whatever might be going through his head, it didn’t stall his body. He obeyed.

He left the bed, unbuckled his belt, and pushed his jeans and boxer shorts together to the floor. He was just as promised—big. Bigger than Mica. Long and thick, curving upward at a graceful angle. He clasped himself as he climbed back on the bed, kneeling, then began to stroke—as slow and light and reverent as those fingertips had looked, skating softly up and down her body.

“You like him?” Mica asked.

She swallowed. “Yes.” She spoke to Mica but sought Vaughn’s eyes. “He’s just as you said.”

Mica moved, also getting to his knees, his own thighs spreading her wider. He leaned in close, kissed her once on lips still damp and tender from another man’s mouth, then reached for the table, for the box. She listened to the rustle of cardboard, then plastic, to the heavy, hungry breath of all three of them in the quiet room, all the while transfixed by Vaughn.

This
was what porn ought to look like, she thought. A gorgeous, strong, naked man, just doing this. It gave him pleasure, no doubt, but there was more to the way he held himself. It was more than a show. It was a presentation. As if he was offering himself to her, seeking her approval, maybe.
This is for you,
each steady tug of his fist was telling her.
All of this is for you, ready the second you ask for it.
Or perhaps, the second he was told to give it to her. There was a
sternness to his expression now, unlike the greedy, smug gleam she knew she’d find on Mica’s face, were their roles reversed.

He was in control, and that excited him, she bet.

It excited her, in turn. She’d found Vaughn’s self-possession attractive from the start. It was who he was, professionally; now sexually, too, it seemed. It’d make watching him fall to pieces all the more obscene.

Her attention shifted to Mica—naked and hard and sheathed, kneeling before her. She tugged at his ribs with her heels. “Show him what you can do to me.”

Mica grinned, clearly happy to share the role of dirty talker. He steadied his cock and flexed his hips, his head sinking in slow and easy. She was wet from his mouth, and from every other thing happening in this room. The sight of both men, the smells, the sounds.

The need intensified, feeling darker, the deeper he pushed. Deeper than those gifted fingers could get, and smoother. Mica fit like they’d been made for each other. She nearly hoped Vaughn wouldn’t feel quite this right—that he’d feel blunter, cruder. That he’d be a little too big, maybe, just a little too much. He was the man who said everything right, Mica the one who said everything so exquisitely wrong. If Mica’s cock was this precisely perfect, inside her as it was now, let Vaughn’s provide the friction, the tension. Let his body take her to that edge abutting pleasure and misgiving, just as Mica’s intentions so often did.

“You want him.”

Her gaze had gone to Vaughn’s hand, but at the sound of that voice, she sought Mica’s unearthly face. “I was wondering how different he’d feel.”

“Were you?” He dropped down, fisting the covers at her sides, hips pumping quicker.

“Yeah.”

“How do
I
feel?”

“Amazing. Like you’ve been doing this with me for ages.”

“And him—how will he feel? Like a stranger?”

Exactly.
She nodded.

“But this,” he said, taking her harder, rougher. “This isn’t so strange.”

“No. I’ve been thinking about this every day since we fucked.”

Oh, that smile. “Me, too. You like it like this?” he demanded, voice now stilted by the effort.

“You feel amazing.”

“You like that big cock?”

She jolted and stammered another “Yeah.”

“You’ll love his even more, then. He’s real big, isn’t he? You want to feel him, right here? Just like this?” he asked, hips slowing.

She’d been panting, lost in his punishing motions, and worked to catch her breath. “I think so.”

“I know you do. So you be a good girl and come for me, and maybe I’ll let you have my friend.”

She reeled, shocked and fevered by those words, by the look in his eyes. By the lust tensing Vaughn’s face and body and hand. That same tension coiled tight in her own belly from Mica’s promise, Vaughn’s face, from the notion of the invitation.

Mica lowered, nipping at her jaw and throat. “Be a good girl,” he said again. “Come on my cock, and maybe I’ll let you have his.”

Fuck, he was a maestro. The dirtiest, nastiest, most gifted conductor. His words affected not just Clare, but Vaughn as well. She could see it on his face, see it in the way his arm muscles locked, working hard not to do anything more than hold his erection. Such a steady-seeming man, yet this taboo, kinky talk had him excited, maybe against his better judgment.

That’s what makes sex hot.
It was the conflict, the danger. The
thrill of being with someone new and unknown, and of bumping up against that wall that separated safe and scary. Mica had brought all of that home for her. That edge. He could draw her deeper into the woods than she ever planned to go, then show her that only wonders awaited her in the shadows.

“Maybe you need a little more,” Mica said, shattering her thoughts. He turned to Vaughn and said, “Touch her.”

Vaughn let his dick go, licked his lips. He was about to get closer to his friend, sexually, than perhaps he ever had. His fingers might glance Mica’s driving cock. Did it scare him? Excite him? All she saw on that face was determination.

He moved to her side, knees planted wide, one touching Mica’s. He touched her hip first, traced the sensitive skin where her thigh met her trunk, tickled the hair on her mound before dipping lower.

She gasped as those fingertips found her clitoris, her own fingers curling into fists around the sheets. Mica gave it to her, deep and relentless. Vaughn teased her, soft and exploratory. She told him with her moans when he was hitting the right spot, the right speed.

“Just like that,” she gasped. Short up-and-down motions with his first two fingers, the exact right amount of pressure and the perfect pace to complement Mica’s thrusts. “Don’t stop.”

Two men, two deep voices choked by grunts, two hard bodies working to please hers. One man’s cock, one man’s hand. She palmed her breasts, closing the loop.

“Good,” Mica said. “Good girl. Come on my cock. Come on my cock and I’ll let you have his.”

Yes.
Christ, but he knew how to pluck every last kinky string she had. The way he spoke, in these nasty, patronizing threats . . .
You’re magic,
she wanted to tell him.

He knew it, too. You could see in those eyes, he knew he had
her. Probably knew she’d give him any goddamn thing he wanted, and he deserved it. He delivered.

She’d never wished she could put off an orgasm so badly in her life. The building of it was too delicious, the tension too hot, and she didn’t want it to end. The wanting and the hunger felt better than any climax ever could, and she’d be fantasizing about this moment for the rest of her life.

“Fuck.” She barely registered that she’d been the one who’d said it, but once that word slipped free, others rushed out on its heels. “You feel so fucking good. Both of you.”

Mica leaned forward, his body casting a shadow across hers in the dim light. He was crowding Vaughn’s arm, his side touching his friend’s wrist, but neither stopped or slowed or showed any sign of disturbance.

As for Clare, it excited her. Zapped her.
They’re touching.
And she wanted more of that. Wanted to watch them kiss, or more. Mica, she could imagine going there. Something in his energy made her think him capable of it. But Vaughn didn’t give off that vibe at all, and beyond being another man, Mica was also his best friend, and his roommate. The things they might do would probably have to live in her head, and there she let the ideas roam free. Imagined Mica kissing his friend, those lips still tasting of her. Imagined that mouth dropping lower, lower, worshipping that cock he was only too eager to praise in the name of exciting Clare.

That did it. That tipped it. Before she could reel herself back, the orgasm was closing in, too fast and bright and quick to stall. It was a burst of heat and sensation in her clit, so close to pain. Vaughn didn’t slow or still his touch—he rubbed her lighter, quicker, and the climax kept rolling. It sucked her under, pleasure chasing up her spine to heat her breasts, her face, tingle in her feet. He drew it out,
out, out, waves seeming to crash in time with Mica’s driving cock, until at long last, she felt it subsiding, felt her spine softening, her arched back finding the soft mess of the covers. The longest orgasm she’d ever felt. Probably not even ten seconds, yet she could swear she’d lived another life, suspended there.

“Holy whoa.” She huffed, finding her breath. Laughed. Both men had gone still, and both sets of dark eyes were locked on her face. Two chests working hard, two sets of parted lips.

Mica dropped low, his cock seated deep and throbbing softly, out of sync with her own frenetic pulse. He kissed her lightly, smiling as he pulled back.

“I do good?” she asked.

“You did real good. You want your reward now?”
Come on my cock and I’ll let you have his.

Funny, given how hard she’d just come, but yes, she wanted that. She
needed that
, so badly it hurt. She nodded.

“Good. Let’s give you what you deserve.”

V
aughn watched Mica pull out. He felt disconnected and completely plugged in to his body at the same time.

How is this even happening?

He knew exactly how, though—Mica. His best friend always got what he wanted, when it came to sex.

That’s a cop-out. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this, too.
Yet he did want Clare, as badly as he’d wanted any woman in recent memory. The lust was lava running through his veins, thick and molten. Without the task of getting Clare off to keep him focused, he felt about ready to go crazy. It was sexual need like he hadn’t experienced it in years, not since . . . Not in ages, anyhow. So strong it felt almost like rage—out of control, powerful, intoxicating. He wanted her so bad it felt like he’d die if he couldn’t have her.

Before tonight, he’d been attracted to her, a little jealous of Mica, but nothing unbearable. But now, having helped get her off, having felt her gaze on him . . . If he didn’t get inside her he was going to rip his own fevered skin off.

And Mica . . . Mica didn’t help matters. He’d never seen his friend
with a woman. He’d seen him naked, seen him be sexual. That same mouth he’d watched pleasuring Clare . . . He’d felt that mouth, himself. He’d tasted that mouth. Whiskey and a touch of salt, a hint of sweat on those lips, and the acrid tinge of the desert. That mouth had taken him to dark places he’d never expected to go, never wanted to go before, and, just thinking about it, he could feel the dry chill of the Southwest dusk closing over him, cooling his skin even as a fire caught inside his body. Every star in the universe overhead, and his best friend’s hungry mouth on his cock.

That can’t happen tonight.

That wasn’t meant to happen at all this summer. The things he let Mica do to him, out in the wilderness, drunk on whiskey and the adrenaline of a day’s climb . . . Those things couldn’t follow him home. Those things had no place in Pittsburgh, in Vaughn’s real, everyday life. They had no place in this bed. In his
identity
. But he’d be lying to himself if he claimed he wasn’t excited by Mica, as much as he was by Clare.

He’d never reciprocated those dark deeds from their trips. Never taken a cock inside him—in his hand, perhaps, but never his mouth, never . . . elsewhere. Mica had always been fine with that, and somehow Vaughn had told himself that made it okay, made it less condemning than it could be. Except watching his friend tonight, watching him fuck, watching him in control, conducting . . . Shit, it was hot. He couldn’t deny it. But Clare didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know he was hot from both of them. Her body and her gaze, but Mica’s, as well. And from his words. From words stamped, indelibly, on Vaughn’s memories.

Just let me. I need it, same as you. It doesn’t mean anything.

Only it had, hadn’t it? Each and every time. If it had been nothing more than two guys getting off, why did it haunt Vaughn the
way it did? Why had he not slept more than a half dozen hours in the two nights before Mica had been due to move in, utterly unsure which would prove stronger—his own resolve or his best friend’s will. Mica got what he wanted, though he’d paid lip service to Vaughn’s insistence that their summer as roommates not cross over into the dangerous territory that existed during their climbing trips. But tonight . . . tonight was blurry, in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol. Tonight couldn’t be trusted, but neither could it be denied.

He knows it, too. He found a fucking loophole.
Though Vaughn couldn’t pretend he wasn’t just a little bit glad.

When Mica moved aside, stripping his condom, Vaughn turned his attention to Clare, fully.

She was gorgeous. Fascinating, too. Light skin but dark freckles—nearly black. Slim waist, full hips. Beautiful breasts, long arms and neck, lush thighs. Her body was all contradictions, a puzzle he’d never get sick of working out. Like Mica, she was a hundred things in one. With her, the multitudes were physical. With Mica . . . With Mica it was more complex. Nothing with him was ever simple. Nothing between the two of them ever had been.

I’m going to feel his eyes on me, if not his hands, tonight.

Clare had sat up to finally ditch her bra and blouse, and he watched the elegant muscles of her back as she leaned over toward the side table. She turned and handed Vaughn a condom, wrapper stripped. He got between her legs, focused on her gaze as he rolled it on, told himself this was about him and her, only. If that were true, it would have been plenty.

But it isn’t, and I goddamn well know it.

Warm, slender hands stroked his shoulders and chest, inviting him closer. He planted his knees wide and lowered to brace himself
on his arms. He guided his crown close, holding his breath as he let it slide along her slick seam, up and down, up and down. Her lips were parted, gaze nailed between them. He felt the same. Starved and crazy.

“Give it to her.” Mica’s words shut Vaughn’s eyes, their impact moving through him like a fever. “She earned it. Give her what she needs.”

Different words flashed, just as dark, just as dirty, spoken nearly a year ago, two thousand miles away.
I know what you need. You know I can give you that. You know I
want
that, and I know you do, too.

He sank inside her. She was warm. Warm as Mica’s mouth had been on that cooling July night, but different. Passive, welcoming, an oasis. Mica . . . Mica was anything but passive. Even on his knees, he dominated. And though they’d never gone there, Vaughn imagined that even getting fucked, Mica would be on top, somehow.

“You feel amazing,” Vaughn whispered. Words he’d never have said to Mica in those forbidden moments, never in a million years. Words meant for female ears. Soft, hot, humble words, reflecting everything he felt when he got inside a woman. It didn’t matter that she’d just welcomed his best friend this same way. If anything it excited him, and not from the taboo, even. From being a part of spoiling her, perhaps, of helping to blow her mind. From being trusted this way, as well, welcomed to do this.

He could imagine a scenario in which a woman let herself be talked into sleeping with two guys, and not having it go this way. Being an object of degradation, not worship. He made it his mission to make sure Clare woke tomorrow with no regrets, only fond memories.

Her hands were on his abs, his sides, his ass, kneading, seeming to approve. He exaggerated the motions, rolling his hips, letting her feel each inch with slow, precise, explicit actions. Could Mica see,
as well? The man had to be hard, still. Maybe touching himself. Vaughn didn’t dare look to confirm.
If he is touching himself, what’s he thinking about?

More to the point,
who
was he thinking about?

About both of them, likely. About how he’d manifested all of this.

You always get what you want, don’t you?
Vaughn nearly wanted to turn his head, to seek Mica’s eyes and pose that question aloud, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t even speak it in private, just the two of them. He never broached the topic of their sexual history, with the exception of telling Mica they were strictly platonic, in Pittsburgh.

I’m so fucking naive.

That little hit of anger, of an ancient-feeling tension . . . It tipped him into another place. Got his blood hot and his excitement edgy, got his hips pumping quicker and sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades. He turned all that energy over to Clare, let her feel it in the way he took her. Let himself feel it, testosterone never more like a chemical hit than right now.

He loved her eyes on him, hungry and fascinated. He wasn’t a man-whore in the least, yet he could admit this was exciting, in its dirty way—being with a woman so impulsively, one he barely knew but wanted nonetheless. Being with a woman, knowing she wanted him right back, but knowing there was no pressure, just sex. Just this night, these questionable decisions, the heat of the moment. The urgency of their bodies. This would never last. This was his one chance with her, and it charged him up, made him feel big and alive and wild.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

“From both of you.”

He swallowed, his throat feeling thick. Could that be true? Had
she thought of him even as she’d been with Mica? Her eyes had told him, yes, it had been the three of them the entire time.

“What do you need?” he asked her, craving a task to keep from losing himself too quickly.

“Just let me see how you are. How different you both are.”

“I could touch you.”
Or Mica could.
“Anything you want. This is your night.” He realized how true that was as he said it. And how much it excited him to be a part of it. He loved women, and loved pleasing them. To imagine that tonight might be the most decadent night of Clare’s life was satisfying on a whole new level.

“I can do it,” she said. And she did. Her slender arm edged between them and she stroked her clit. He let himself watch, mesmerized.

“Tell me how you want me. Faster, slower . . .”

“This is perfect.” She rubbed in time with his thrusts. For a minute he was lost in her alone, until the shadows shifted. The bed shifted. Mica was beside him—not close enough for their bodies to touch, but enough for Vaughn to sense the heat of his friend’s skin, and to catch the smell of his excitement and sweat. His head went foggy, memories nagging.

Mica was a little behind him, a little above him. A familiar sensation, one he’d not felt in nearly a year, rocked him—a hard, strong hand on his upper back.

Fuck, I know that hand.
This was the feel of the most frightening and exhilarating and hot-wrong moment of his life, six summers back, when he’d first felt his best friend’s fingers close around his cock. Nothing like a woman’s touch, but so exactly like Mica’s.

You know I’m bi, right?
Mica had spoken those words perhaps an hour before that fateful moment. And Vaughn
had
known it. Back in their Urban Exchange days, he’d heard from some of the other boys
that Mica had said as much to them, matter-of-fact. Plus, Mica had that quality that had had Vaughn suspecting as much already. Not androgyny, but . . . something. Something about the way he held himself: too sensual to be completely masculine; too assured, too cocky to be truly feminine. Graceful and raw, that was Mica. Plus, in that group of straight, thug-wannabe urban teens, he wore jewelry. Rings, a wrist cuff, thick hoops in his ears. No diamond studs, no oversized crosses, but artsy shit none of them would have gone for, not in their hoods and not out in the wilderness. Mica wasn’t what anybody expected or demanded that he be. Never had been. So Vaughn had told him,
I figured, maybe. Doesn’t matter to me, though.

He’d thought his friend had been confessing. They’d shared a lot of personal stuff by then—childhood baggage chiefly, and that shit was heavy, especially on Mica’s end. He’d thought it had maybe been nerves that had put that tension in his eyes, fear that Vaughn might reject him when he came clean about his sexuality.

Again, naive. That had been but a preamble. A warning, even, looking back . . .

You know I’m bi, right?

What had he really been saying, though?

You know I want you, right?

You know I’m about to blow your goddamn mind, don’t you, straight boy?

You know
you
want me right back.

And maybe that was true. Maybe Vaughn would’ve seen it all coming, if he hadn’t been too scared to admit he was curious. Mica had an energy that he’d always found impossible to ignore—at first it had grated, then he’d come to admire it. And eventually, in drunken, sentimental moments, he’d felt now and then that maybe he even had a crush of sorts on the guy.

That hand on his back crept higher, clamping possessively at the base of his neck. Vaughn moaned, eyes shutting. Clare could see. He knew she could. What she’d make of it, he couldn’t guess.

“He feel good?” Mica asked her.

“Amazing.”

Vaughn opened his eyes. Clare’s gaze wasn’t on his face, but a little to the side. On Mica’s arm, maybe, or his thumb, where it gripped Vaughn’s neck, if she could see that.

“You like his cock?”

“Yeah.”

“Big enough?”

She nodded, like the words had run out on her, and her attention dropped between their bodies.

“You like having both of us?”

Again, Vaughn’s eyes shut. Mica always knew what to say. Just opened his mouth and let the nasty, dirty, exciting truth of whatever was happening fall from those lips. He never held back; not when it came to sex, anyway.

“Yes,” Clare said, more a moan than anything—Vaughn’s motions had quickened at the question. He was rocking into her, swaying her breasts, bouncing her hair. It was as much the hand on his neck as it was the heaven of her pussy around his dick that had spurred him.

Only that hand moved then, sliding all the way down his back to his hip. Mica rode the motions at first, then urged them, pushing each time Vaughn drove deep. He’d felt that hand there before, when Mica had gone down on him, but never quite like this. Greedy, maybe, but never so bossy.