Clash

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Come on, Mac," I say with a wry grin. "Macy doesn't do anything unless it's for attention. I mean... look at that party she threw for Aaron. No one-year-old baby needs a party with champagne and caviar. She threw that party for herself, not for you, Aaron, or Matt."

  Okay, that came out way harsher than I imagined it in my head, and I know this by the fact that Mac's face colors red with anger.

  "You shouldn't be so judgmental, Cal," she says quietly to me, and with just enough shaming in her voice to make me feel like shit.

  Which makes me defensive. "The party was over the top, Mac. It was unnecessary. Surely you can admit that."

  Mac gives me a shake of her head with a sad smile, and then shocks the shit out of me. "It was absolutely necessary, Cal. Necessary to Macy anyway, and I fully supported every decision she made about it, right down to the china pattern of the dessert plates I approved."

  My jaw drops. "Are you serious?"

  "It was necessary to Macy," she repeats slowly, and I know she's dead fucking serious. "And because I love her, I accommodated her."

  Uneasiness bubbles within my chest because I know, without a doubt, that Mac is telling me--without telling me--that there's a deeper story behind Macy Carrington's motivations. It makes me feel guilty, and oddly... slightly intrigued.

  I shrug it off though. While I may have fantasized every night for the past ten days about what an amazing screw Macy is, and I may have jacked off more than normal because of those fantasies, my gut instinct tells me to stay far away from her. Give it time and these fantasies will subside.

  Haven't even thought once about taking her up on her offer for a repeat.

  Nope. Not once.

  Okay, not once past that first night after Aaron's party. Admittedly, I almost picked up the phone to call her, but then I was saved by Camille giving me a call to chat.

  "Fuck," I exclaim as I shoot out of my chair, tucking the folder Mac handed me under my arm. "I completely forgot I've got to meet Camille."

  "Hot date?" Mac inquires.

  "She got tickets for us to Book of Mormon," I say absently as I grab my briefcase and head for her door. Calling out over my shoulder, I add on, "I'll look over this assignment tomorrow."

  "Awesome," Mac says as I pull my phone out of my breast pocket. Before I can even look at it, she stops me dead in my tracks. "And Cal?"

  By the tone of her voice, I can tell she's getting ready to tell me something that she's been utterly relishing inside that brilliant head of hers. I have no clue what she's going to say, but her tone is completely victorious before she even lays it on me.

  "Yeah?" I ask hesitantly as I turn back to face her.

  "That assignment," she says as her eyes flick to the folder under my arm. "Macy wants it to be an anonymous donation. She doesn't want any credit for it."

  Fuck... that makes me feel even shittier. But I don't have time to apologize or make amends for my horrid thoughts about her best friend. I just give her a repentant smile and nod of my head before turning away.

  Once outside of her office, I turn my attention to my phone. Ignoring the text that I'm sure is from Camille, I go ahead and call her as I head toward the lobby elevator.

  She picks up on the second ring. Never one to pussyfoot around, she says, "Don't bother rushing. We'll never make the show."

  I cringe over the anger laced with disappointment in her voice. "I'm so sorry. It's just been crazy at work today, and then I got stuck on an emergent issue with Mac."

  Camille snorts. "Of course you did."

  "I did," I insist, even though that's not exactly true. Macy's trust assignment is not an emergency. "Let me make it up to you. I can be there in thirty minutes, and I'll take you out to a nice dinner."

  I jab at the elevator button while I tilt my head to hold the phone between my shoulder and ear. Managing to pull the folder out from under my arm, I shove it into a side pocket of my briefcase. With my arm now completely free, I take the phone back in hand and press it closer to my ear.

  I'm not even sure why I'm trying to appease her at this point. My desire to reconnect with Camille has been lukewarm at best. After my encounter with Macy, it's cooled even more. But we have a history, and when we were good, we were really good, so I figured I should give it at least a decent effort to see if a spark can be rekindled.

  With a deep sigh, Camille takes the guilt trip to an entirely new level. "This is about priorities, Cal. If we're going to try to make a go of this, you have to make me a priority. Especially when I have four-hundred dollar theater tickets."

  I grit my teeth as the elevator doors open, and she's saved from what I really want to say as I see the car is full of people. I step in and move to the back, leaning up against the wall. With a low voice, I say, "Don't even go there, Camille. You do not want to get into a discussion on what priorities really mean."

  I mean, fuck... she clearly didn't make me a priority when she jetted off to London in search of money and power.

  Clearly, that still stings a bit, so I feel like I'm always poised to strike out at her when she even remotely questions my character.

  The backpedaling starts. "I'm sorry," she says quickly. "You're right. I'm just disappointed we won't see the show. I've been dying to go."

  As the elevator car descends, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know, and again, I'm sorry. I'll be there soon, and then we'll have a nice dinner. And I'll reimburse you for the tickets."

  Camille's voice is bright and cheery. "Alright. I'll accept that. See you soon."

  She hangs up, and my hand holding my phone falls away from my face. Christ... I do not want to go to dinner with her tonight. My mind is still swirling over Mac's cryptic statement about Macy, and whatever potential secret she's hiding. I'm pissy that Macy is even occupying my thoughts, and that my dick is still very much interested in her. Add on to that an irate ex-girlfriend who is trying to be my current girlfriend even though I'm not sure that's really what I want... and a night out is the last thing I want.

  I'd rather just head back to my apartment and drink a six-pack of beer while watching some baseball on TV.

  And maybe jack off while reliving that amazing blow job and finger fuck that Macy did on me last week.

  Just the thought has my groin starting to tighten, and for the first time in nine days, I consider calling Macy.

  No!

  Get a fucking grip, Cal.

  That woman may be the hottest fuck ever, but she is way more trouble than I want to take on.

  Chapter 7

  One week later...

  Camille sits across from me at my dining room table. Her back is ramrod straight, one hand daintily in her lap while the other spears asparagus tips with her fork. She takes forever to eat because she believes in very small bites and chewing her food like forty times or some shit like that. I always finish way before she does, which lets me sit back in my chair and relax with a second glass of wine.

  I need the fortitude tonight because it seems like it's actually a chore to spend time with Camille, and this makes me feel bad. I mean... I loved this woman once.

  Didn't I?

  But we are not reconnecting, despite how hard she's trying. It seems like all of our conversations are stilted and forced. I don't find her amusing anymore, and I'm not sure if this is something new that I'm seeing, or if she always did it and I just refused to acknowledge it, but she seems to fucking whine a lot about her lot in life.

  Grady has a bigger office than I do, even though I've been at the firm longer.

  The corner market stopped carrying my favorite mineral water, and I think I might die without it.

  My hairdresser cut two inches off my hair rather than one, and I look horrid.

  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  Damn... even when we discuss the law, a subject that I love and am well versed in, she sounds like a damn robot, just regurgitating the stuff she learned in law school. She has no passion... no spirit, and it's actually quite d
epressing to me. In fact, I'm betting that's exactly why she didn't get the partnership she was aiming for. I bet the selection committee could tell she didn't have that fire deep in her belly that makes a truly great lawyer.

  So you may wonder why in the fuck is she in my apartment, eating a fantastic meal I just cooked her?

  I'll tell you why.

  Every date I go on with Camille is one more day in my life that I refuse to call Macy and take her up on her offer of a repeat fuck. Because despite my lack of connection and interest with Camille, I'm not the type of guy that will screw around on the person I'm seeing. Don't get me wrong... I like getting freaky when it comes to sex, but I am a monogamist to the core.

  So I put up with Camille and our lackluster dates because she's my protection against Macy. The woman who I can't seem to get out of my mind. The woman who has intrigued me greatly, now that I know she's got some type of secret she's harboring that perhaps has made her a certain way. A woman who is overtly sexual with a dark past? It's too delicious not to be taken in by it.

  But I can't go there.

  Macy Carrington isn't the type of woman I need.

  I'm ready to settle down, start a family. I want a woman that can be my freak in the bedroom, but that is only a freak in the bedroom with me.

  And I know, for a fact, that Macy Carrington doesn't do monogamy.

  Sure... I could take her up on a repeat fuck. She would be all in, and she would consider it great fun, I bet. As would I... while I was fucking her.

  But I know that it will never be anything more than that, and if this makes me sound like a girl, so be it, but I just don't have the heart to get involved with someone that, well... doesn't have a heart.

  When I invited Camille over for dinner tonight, it wasn't just with the idea in mind that I would feed her and we would hang out, have some boring, stilted conversation and a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

  No, when I invited her over here, it was with the idea in mind that I was going to fuck her tonight. Camille has been trying to get in my pants for the last few weeks and I've put her off, mainly because I wasn't sure this was going anywhere. What I've realized, however, is that I'm comfortable in my little rut right now, because as I said, it keeps me a bit safe.

  And who knows... maybe things will start to click with Camille. Maybe I'm still harboring some bitter feelings against her and need to work through those. Maybe she's having a tough time, and it's causing her to be a bit reserved with me. I could rationalize out a million things but when it boils right down to it, Camille and I have history that was created with hard work and patience. She's also sweet, brilliant, and gorgeous. I owe it to us to really give this a shot.

  Which means... I'm giving in, and I'm going to fuck her tonight. Besides... I'm tired of jacking off to Macy-porn in my head. I really need a good fuck, and maybe then, I can actually forget about my encounter in the kitchen pantry.

  Despite a certain woman's claim that I'm a saint, I actually can be quite filthy when it comes to my fucking. I like to play--sometimes rough, sometimes with toys. This is something I had in common with Camille. As I step back from the bed to observe my handiwork, I think that maybe this is really what we need to reconnect.

  She's naked in the middle of my bed, on her knees with her hands tied behind her back, her cheek resting on the mattress. Normally, I'd take a bit more time with the rope, but I don't have the patience for it tonight. I'm afraid if I don't move forward quickly, I might end up changing my mind.

  I put one knee up on the mattress, bracing myself with my other foot firmly on the floor, and bring my hand up to her pussy. She moans when I cup her, and then rocks back into me when I push a finger inside. She's wet, but I knew she would be. She always gets drenched when I tie her up.

  My own cock needs some help so with my free hand, I stroke it idly, feeling it slowly start to rise to the occasion. I do this for a while... fingering her, pumping myself... engaging in some dispassionate foreplay.

  Pulling my hand away from her, I step back from the bed.

  "Don't stop," Camille whines.

  Yes, it sounds whiny, so I ignore it.

  I walk around the bed to my nightstand, pulling a condom out of my drawer. Camille's face is turned toward me, her eyes watching my every move. "A condom?" she asks, perplexed.

  We didn't use condoms when we were together, but that came after we both realized our feelings were getting deep and after getting clean bills of health from our mutual doctors. But I have no clue who she's been fucking the last six months, and let's face it, I had unprotected sex over two weeks ago.

  I know that's a fact that should worry me, but truth of the matter is, it doesn't. I'm wearing a condom tonight for my protection, of course, but also out of respect for Camille. While I'm pretty confident Macy is clean, I know there's a slight chance I could be wrong.

  But I don't think so, and that's because even though Macy and I are casual acquaintances, I actually happen to know something about her sex life.

  She is by no means a saint, and she is quite promiscuous.

  I know this from Mac.

  I know this from Mac because Mac is my best friend and she shares certain things with me. Now, she didn't share gossip about Macy, and she didn't tell me details about Macy's sex life. On the contrary, she shared an interesting story with me about how she and Matt actually met through a "dating" service that paired people up for one-night stands. In fact, the company is called One Night Only, and all members are stringently vetted and routinely checked medically to be certified disease free.

  It's a brilliant concept actually, and apparently, Matt used it for many years after he booted his ex-wife out. Mac only used it once, and that was when she met Matt. How I know about Macy's sexual history is because Mac told me that Macy is the one that introduced her to it. In fact, she said Macy never dated, didn't do relationships, and only went out with men from this service.

  So if that holds true, then I probably have no worry about catching something itchy from my pantry encounter. Again, however, I could be wrong and only time would tell, but until then, I need to play it safe for Camille's sake.

  Funny... really.

  At no time from the moment I pressed Macy's hand to my cock did I once consider using a condom. I was so overwhelmed with lust, and a driving need to get inside her body, that the need for protection was simply obliterated from my mind. Which only goes to prove how dangerous Macy really is to me.

  She removes rationality and common sense.

  I open the condom packet and roll it on, thankful my dick is at least at half mast. I look at Camille and gently say, "We've been apart a long time, and I'm sure neither of us was celibate."

  And I leave it at that.

  She stares at me a moment before giving me an accepting smile.

  I start stroking my dick again. Normally, just the sight of Camille bound and on her knees would have me hard as a rock, but tonight, my cock is apparently playing hard to get. Camille's eyes cut over to it. "Need a little help getting ready?"

  I shake my head and turn away from her, walking to the back of the bed again. It's hard enough to do the job, and that's all that matters.

  Crawling up behind her, I stroke her smooth back and push my fingers inside of her, ensuring she's still wet and ready. I wish I were as responsive as she is tonight. I really, really want this to be good, not only for Camille, but for me as well.

  I need it to be good for me.

  I need it because I need to banish Macy from my thoughts.

  Pulling my hand from between Camille's legs, I edge up to her backside and guide my cock to her entrance. It's warm and wet, and I know it will feel good.

  I slide in slowly, watching as it disappears into her, and I'm rewarded with a long moan. I wait for my cock to recognize sweet pussy and go fully hard on me, but it just lays there like a slug.

  A big, engorged slug, but a slug just the same.

  I pull out and thrust back in a few t
imes, hoping to encourage it further.

  Fuck... what the fuck is wrong with me?

  I have a beautiful woman tied and submissive on my bed, and my dick is lodged deep. It should be completely in its element and happy to produce.

  Didn't have this problem with Macy.

  For fuck's sake... the woman got me hard immediately after I came inside of her. That's never happened to me before, but the minute she challenged me to keep fucking her, my cock was more than ready to have another go round.

  A shudder of ecstasy runs up my spine as I think about the way Macy sucked me off with her finger up my ass, and my dick swells supremely hard, pushing hard against Camille's tender flesh. She feels it, and actually grunts from the sensation.

  Yeah... that's the ticket.

  I start pumping my hips faster, fucking Camille deep, taking advantage of my complete hard-on. I think about Macy the entire time and I'm so consumed with my thoughts about her, there's no room for me to even feel guilty about having two women in the bed with me right at this moment.

  Macy's hot mouth on me, sucking hard. Her fingers playing with my balls, wet and slick, slipping into my ass. Stroking whatever the fuck that was inside of me that had me coming so fucking hard that I--

  "Fuuuuuck," I shout out as I slam into Camille so forcefully her body flattens out on the mattress, and I start coming.

  Thinking the entire time about the way I came deep inside of Macy's pussy... then shot a load down her throat while she fingered herself.

  My hips continue to thrust and tunnel into Camille while I envision another woman and what she does to me.

  I'm a fucking schmuck and I know it, but I can't help how fucking good it feels right at this moment.

  Chapter 8

  From the Diary of Macy Carrington:

  Dear Diary,

  Today was not a good day.

  I knew it was going to be a bad day because I had plans to meet my mother for lunch. We both know that nothing good ever comes out of these types of things.

  Sitting at a table and nibbling on Cobb salads while my mother tells me about her fancy parties and famous people that she runs with. And I have to sit there and smile, be the perfect lady, and pretend that all the shit spewing from her mouth interests me. I sit there knowing she will never ask me how I'm doing. She won't give me a hug or tell me she loves me. Instead, she'll wait for me to make a mistake... maybe I won't fold my napkin correctly, or perhaps I'll order something that could cause my hips to get fat.