Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (9 page)

“On your sides,” Mica said. His voice sounded so big in the dim, quiet room, the order so absolute.

And isn’t it? Wouldn’t we both do exactly what he tells us?

He moved to his side and Clare rolled onto her hip, cocking her leg so he could make his way back inside her. He clasped her other thigh tight to his as he got seated, and the position changed everything. Their faces were close enough to kiss, her eyes there, right there.

Before it had been a performance, but this was a dance. She met his movements with her own, and he loved the brush of her belly against his, her breasts against his chest, the pressure of the hand gripping his shoulder. He knew Mica was behind him, watching, maybe stroking—it didn’t matter. It didn’t make it any less intimate. If anything Vaughn felt closer to her, knowing they were the same—two wide-eyed, willing pawns in Mica’s game.

Vaughn waited for that rough hand again, but it didn’t come. Instead he felt the mattress lift as his friend left the bed to circle around, then stretch out behind Clare. Mica stroked her arm, kissed her shoulder and neck. His eyes met Vaughn’s, and a current hummed between them, undeniable.

“You want to come on his cock?” Mica whispered.

Her lips parted and she licked them before answering. “Yes.”

“You want me, too? My hand?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get.”

Vaughn swallowed, knowing what was next. Mica curved an arm along Clare’s waist, his fingers slipping between their joined bodies. He felt those weathered knuckles against his belly and sucked a harsh breath.
How far are you going to take this?
How far did Vaughn wish he might take it? Far enough for Clare to guess that there was more to the two of them than met the eye?

He let his forehead press into Clare’s, let her hear how labored his breathing had grown. He’d have counted on Mica’s hand dialing
him back a notch with a witness, cooling him, but no. He felt close. Not on the brink, but edging toward it.

It wasn’t lost on Clare. “You close?”

“Getting there.”

She kissed him, the contact doing something strange, releasing a wave of calm pleasure that seeped from his mouth down his neck, his spine, arms, and legs. Grounded him, even as he felt Mica’s knuckles working Clare’s clit between them. He kissed her back, deeply, feeling grateful and more naked than he could remember.

“I’m close, too,” she whispered.

“What do you need?”

“Exactly this.” She pulled back enough to let him see her smile. It must have been evident, how overwrought he felt, as she touched his cheek, held his face. “Maybe we’ll get there together.”

“Maybe.” He barely knew what they were talking about, so lost in his body. His gaze flicked to Mica, finding those dark eyes burning. Smoldering. He smiled, and Vaughn’s face flushed as his own eyes shut.

The hand between them slid free, and Vaughn opened his eyes to find Mica reaching for the condoms.
What’s next?
he wondered. How dirty were things about to get, exactly?

“Give me a turn?” he murmured to Clare, an order dressed as a request.

She looked to Vaughn, and he obliged. He needed the break, frankly, if he didn’t want to lose himself.
Or maybe not.
He was transfixed by Clare’s face as she angled her body and welcomed Mica inside from behind. Vaughn wasn’t even touching himself and he felt that hot pressure mounting between his legs, just watching them.

“Touch her.” Mica’s words were barely audible, his lips and tongue teasing Clare’s neck as he thrust, slow and deep.

Vaughn did as he was told. Her clit was stiff and hot, dragging against his fingertips. He took a leap, sliding those fingers lower, feeling the point of penetration. Feeling her lips, feeling Mica’s rushing cock. She was wet, and he brought that slickness back to her clit. She bucked at the sensation, exciting him.

“Like this?” he asked, circling lightly.

“A little quicker.”

He gave that, and a touch more pressure.

“Yeah,” she breathed. She was nearly there. He could see it on her strained face, hear it in her voice. He kept that hand working and curled his body lower. He caught her nipple with his lips and immediately her hands were on his head. Possessive. Approving. He teased her, getting hotter himself by the moment. He felt Mica’s motions—the impact and the withdrawal, the weight and strength of him.

“Who do you want?” Mica asked her. “Whose cock do you want to come on?”

“His cock. Your hand.”

The opposite of how she’d first come, Vaughn thought. And the flattery lit him up. She wanted him. She chose him.

“Give her what she needs,” Mica said as he pulled away. He turned his attention to Clare. “You like getting shared like this?”

Her eyes were still shut tight and she nodded. Vaughn found his way to her pussy, those soft lips scorching hot on his cock after long minutes of deprivation. He pushed deep, made the motions dirty, wanting to echo the tone of Mica’s words.

“Tell me how fast.”

“As fast as you like it.” Those dark eyes opened and she stroked his face.

Vaughn liked it however the woman in his bed needed it, but it
seemed Clare needed to feel a touch used. Mica had set the mood, so he gave what he imagined his friend had in mind. Quick and a little rough, a little greedy, just a faint underline highlighting the fact that she was giving herself to two men, was pinned between their bodies and desires.

Her fingers dug at his neck and shoulder. She liked what he was giving. He liked it, too, feeling like this sort of man for a little while. Mica, he lived as the embodiment of every dirty impulse that passed through his head. Vaughn softened his most impolite, aggressive instincts, because more than any of that, he desired to be a good lover. But here and now, he could be the beast that lived inside every man. Maybe in every woman, too.

He clasped Clare’s thigh, pinned it to his hip, and hammered.

“You want my hand?” He let an edge rise in his voice with the words, just how Mica would ask it.

And the answer came not from Clare but from Mica. “She wants mine,” he corrected. His arm circled her waist, hand slipping between her and Vaughn once more.

What does it feel like?
he wanted to ask her. What must it feel like, being served by two people at once?
I could find out for myself. Let Clare see the two of us the way we’ve been, out in the wilderness.
Vaughn could have either of their mouths on him as the other stroked his face or back, or kissed him. He could be the one ravaged by two lovers.

No, I can’t. No one can ever know about that. Not here. Not at home.

Not even if it would mean the most exquisite pleasure of my life.

No sex was worth cashing in your identity for. Who you were was for life, versus this . . . ? This was just for tonight. And tonight was for Clare, he reminded himself.

“Like this?” he asked her, giving her his cock in long, quick strokes, just as his body craved.

“Yes.” Her eyes were shut tight, her hands gripping his neck and his shoulder, squeezing each time he drove deep. Between them, Mica was working her clit. His knuckles met the root of Vaughn’s cock with each stroke, and the restless muscles of his forearms danced along Vaughn’s belly and ribs.

“What are you thinking about?” Mica asked Clare.

“Just this,” she whispered, her voice airy with pleasure or distraction. “Exactly this. Both of you.”

“This?” Vaughn echoed, and slowed his hips to give it to her deep and explicit for a handful of pushes.

“Yeah.”

“And his hand?” Vaughn asked, speeding once more. The dirty talk no longer felt like an imperative set by Mica, a mood to adhere to. It felt right—intuitive and exciting.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“Next time,” Mica told her, his voice shallow from panting, excited breaths. “Next time, you, on your hands and knees. Me behind you. Him in your mouth.”

Vaughn watched her lips part, imagined that if that pretty face weren’t already flushed, Mica’s words would’ve stained those cheeks pink. She didn’t reply except to move against him, against both of them, hips squirming, seeking some subtle angle from Vaughn’s cock or Mica’s fingers, or both.

Next time.
Two little words, but Mica had spoken them like a promise.

There can’t be a next time.
Can there?

Vaughn knew his best friend well. Well enough to know that Clare’s pleasure wasn’t the only thing he was after, this three-way
not the only taboo he was brushing up against. Clare didn’t know about their history, and he had no doubt that Mica was getting off on that fact, getting off on dancing around that rule Vaughn had established when he’d agreed to let Mica sublet.

That stuff that’s happened, on the trip,
he’d said.
That’s not happening here. Not in my apartment, not in Pittsburgh. Not in my real life—you got that?

Mica had been unpacking his one piece of luggage—a too-familiar frame pack—in his temporary room, not two weeks earlier. He’d looked up from the dresser with a smile.
“That stuff”?

You know what I mean.

Mica had shut the drawer, opened another. Smile still lingering on his lips, he’d said simply,
Sure.
A pause.
Though funny how it all felt pretty fucking real to me.

As it had to Vaughn. As intense and exciting and dangerous as any free climb. Scary. But natural, too. And maybe that was what made it scary—exactly how natural it had felt. How inevitable, almost.

Mica spoke, and Vaughn could sense that very same smile in his voice as he told Clare—told both of them—“Next time, we’ll show you even more.”

Show her what?
What was Mica fantasizing about, precisely? About his mouth on Vaughn’s cock, perhaps, and this woman’s eyes on the two of them. Whatever would make Vaughn nervous, that’s what he was after. Always pushing, always edging up against too much. Sometimes crossing that line. Sometimes hurdling it.

“How’s he feel?” Mica asked Clare.

She breathed, “Amazing.”

“Big, right?”

“Yes.”

“Deep. Long. Hard.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna come on that cock? Show him how much you like it?”

“Yeah.”

Vaughn felt Mica’s hand racing between their bodies and felt Clare winding up, her motions tight and needy now.

“Use me,” Vaughn whispered. “Take me.” He gave her what he thought she needed with a steady, quick pace and felt Mica’s stroking fingers fall into step.

Those squeezing hands on his shoulders were clawing now, nails raking. Transfixed by everything happening in his bed, he heard his own voice reduced to wordless pants and moans.

“Use him,” Mica said, echoing Vaughn’s own words. “Both of us. Come for us.”

A vision flashed—Mica’s face lit golden by the setting sun, last summer. Dark hair and brows, black eyes staring up, full of hunger. That man, on his knees. Warm and waning light, cool breeze. The smell of their sweat and the smell of sex, and the snug heat of Mica’s lips around Vaughn’s dick, his hands on Vaughn’s hips.
Come,
those eyes had told him, as real as a spoken order.
Let me taste it. Let me taste what I reduce you to.
That hot stare had told Vaughn a hundred nasty things. Like with that smile when he’d been unpacking, the man could speak without opening his mouth.
Give me a week,
that smile had said.
Give me a week, and I’ll have my way.

Mica’s way involved a third party, it turned out—a twisting of the rule as opposed to outright breaking it—but he’d gotten them there in the end, just as that smile had promised.

Against him, around him, Clare was coming undone. Vaughn plugged himself back into reality, turned his attention to this new lover, this charming, unsuspecting woman, and blocked Mica out. He panted in time with her moans and his thrusts, awed.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.

“Never.”

“Don’t stop.” She said it again, again—four thoughtless, breathy times before he felt her shudder and clench, clench once more, then cling. He stilled his body, lost in the subtle squeeze of her sex around his before she fell slack against him.

“Good,” he whispered.

Mica’s hand gave a final twitch, and Clare tensed from the contact, then relaxed. Vaughn kissed her forehead. Her sweat was salty, her skin warm, and he imagined eating her pussy—how she’d taste, what she’d say. What Mica would say.

Vaughn’s cock was pounding. So focused on Clare’s pleasure, he’d not let himself feel how hot he’d gotten, how badly he needed to get off. Now that fact was screaming at him, his flesh aching for relief.

He eased out a little, then back in. “Okay?” he asked her.

She nodded, her temple brushing his chin. “Very okay. You’ve more than earned your turn.”

“You feel spoiled?” Mica asked her, and Vaughn heard him kiss her neck.

“Completely.”

“Greedy girl. Now maybe it’s our turn, huh? Maybe now you let his dick take whatever it wants, since it gave you exactly what you needed.”

She nodded, sighed out a dreamy, “Of course. However you need it,” she added to Vaughn.

“Just like this,” he said softly. Just as they were—the three of them. He began to move, for himself, this time. Shallow, quick thrusts, punctuated with the odd rough plunge, letting the both of them feel how deep he could take her. Each time he drove in that
way, she gasped, the sweetest little sound that lit him up like a five-alarm fire.

On her other side, Mica was panting, grunting. Vaughn could feel the motions of his hips and knew he must be rubbing along her ass. He knew those sounds well, and others. He knew the sound of Mica’s voice, muffled by Vaughn’s cock but humming in time with Mica’s own stroking hand on his dick. Mica wanted more, he knew, when it was just the two of them, out in the middle of nowhere. He wanted everything two men could do, though Vaughn never intended to give it to him. Still, was Mica imagining those things now, finally privy to the sight of Vaughn fucking? he wondered. Did he wish he were in Clare’s place? Vaughn shuddered at the thought, cooled by a familiar shame, heated by the memory of it. At once his hips were speeding, taking Clare rougher. He could feel so much. Her wet, hot body, the cotton of his covers, the cool of the room. He imagined more—another body, warm and tight, and hard earth against his knees, through the slippery nylon of a sleeping bag. He felt as though he were fucking both of them, right then, and suspended between two times, two places—a strange, almost overwhelming sensation. A high.