All About the D

by Lex Martin

  Those wide gray eyes turn up to me.

  I love you.

  My heart beats harder, and I clear my throat. “You mean a lot to me.” I run my thumb across her jaw, and she leans into my palm, delight brightening her face.

  “You mean a lot to me too.”

  “I mean it. You’ve become my best friend.”

  I kiss her, but this one is different. This one is tender. I want to make sure she knows we’re official. That she’s mine, and I’m not going anywhere. “I don’t care about the outside world. But we’re together.” I feel the need to say the words in case she’s not sure. Because it’s easy to doubt our relationship when we’ve kept it a secret.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “What we have is real. What we have, you don’t find every day.” I rest my forehead against hers. “We’ll need to figure out how to tell people in our lives and your job, but we’re happening.”

  Her smile widens, and I return the grin.

  With the sun streaming through the back window, highlighting this beautiful woman, someone I can call mine, the moment feels bigger than either of us, like a snapshot in time I’ll want to look back on someday.

  I kiss her again, as passionately as if I hadn’t been kissing her for the past few minutes.

  I get lost in her taste. In the sleek skin of her back against my rough palms.

  Our bodies align of their own accord, and I push against her center.

  We both groan.

  It’s just the tip, but the snug fit only makes me crave more. More of her heat and our connection.

  I slowly push in, wanting to slam into her and knowing she’d enjoy it, but I draw it out.

  Another inch.

  Another inch.

  I strain into her until I’m fully seated, and when I bottom out, she tosses her head back, mouth open, eyes clenched shut.

  “So good,” she forces out. “More. Please, Josh. Now.”

  Her legs wrap around my waist and tighten against my ass until I can’t take it anymore.

  My eyes shift down to watch our hips separate. I brace my hands on her ass, and with one quick thrust, we’re joined. Short, choppy sighs of pleasure fill my ears as I move in her.

  The red camera light catches my eye, but I ignore it. This moment, this video, is just for us, so I’m not gonna worry about what we’ve recorded.

  Picking up the rhythm, I sneak a hand between us and spread her wetness with my thumb, flicking that tight nub. It only takes a few strokes until she contracts around me, shuddering on my shaft.

  It almost sets me off, but no, I hold my release back. When I pull out, she shivers.

  My eyes trail down the light sheen of sweat on her body, soaking her in. I don’t need alcohol when I’m with her. I’m drunk on her sensuous contours. High on her soft planes.

  “Got another one in you, baby?”

  She laughs and shakes her head no, but I don’t accept that answer. I set her feet on the ledge near her ass, opening her up, getting back to my original plan to lick this pretty pussy.

  A deeper flush paints her cheeks. I smile because I can guess what she’s thinking while I spread her out on the kitchen counter in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Don’t be shy, baby. You’re so fucking beautiful. You turn me on like no other woman ever has.”

  I motion between us where she can see my arousal. It’s aimed at her like a divining rod.

  Her shoulders relax even though I know she still wrestles with this sometimes. And there’s only one way to help her forget.

  Kneeling on the floor, I grab her thighs and use my thumbs to part her lips.

  The first lick makes her gasp. The second makes her scream. But the third makes her fist my hair and hold me to her mound where she writhes on my tongue.

  In no time, her whole body tightens in my arms. I can feel it. Feel her building. I can tell she’s primed and—

  Fuck, yeah, she comes, riding my face, tits jiggling over me, leg quaking against my shoulders.

  She shrieks so loudly her dog starts barking.

  But I don’t stop, and she comes again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Mission accomplished.

  When I look up at her, her eyes have that sleepy, sated look I’m hungry for.

  “Oh, my God, that was surreal,” she blurts, and then laughs. She pants, out of breath, and strokes my face gently. “It’s your turn.”

  I clamber up and begin fucking her for real. Fast, hard. Frantic. All my pent-up lust and desire for this woman unraveling my restraint at lightning speed.

  She grips me so damn tight.

  I’m on the edge.

  So close.

  So fucking close.

  Then she says the words that send a shiver through me.

  “Cum on my tits, Josh. Do it. I know you want to.”

  God, yes.

  I thrust harder. Faster. And when I’m just about to come, I pull out, and she shifts off the counter onto her knees. She holds herself up to me like an offering, and I jerk off until I pulse all over her creamy, full breasts.

  Marking her as mine.

  Because she is.

  Later that night, we shower at Evie’s house, then go to my condo.

  After we order Indian food for delivery, we watch the video we made.

  It’s sexy as fuck. Except for the selfie, it never shows our faces. And that blowjob, you can’t tell who she is, it simply looks like a dark-haired woman.

  As soon as I see it, I reconsider and want to post a clip. Just a small piece of it. A small piece of us.

  With Evie’s approval, I trim the video on my laptop so it’s only the part where she’s stroking me off. All you can see is her hand and my abs. The video is in black and white and looks classic.

  Except you can hear me groan.

  She nods, and I upload the video to my blog. It’s the first time I’ve let them hear what I sound like.

  I hope this isn’t a mistake. Except there’s no identifying us from this. I’m sure of it. But this is my way of showing the world she’s mine. Even if it’s behind the façade of my blog.

  And I want to claim her. So fucking bad.

  22

  Josh

  Staring at my screen, I smile when I see Evie’s text.

  Hope you’re having fun! Miss you, handsome.

  I text her back, wishing I could bail and spend the night wrapped around her instead of needing to show my face at my parents’ Fourth of July party.

  Drew burps in my ear. “Gotta drain the lizard.”

  Cringing, I put my phone away and watch my best friend stumble into the blue hydrangea bush on the side of my parents’ house and whip out his dick even though guests eat and chatter in an elegant white tent not ten yards from us.

  “Jesus Christ, Demerit,” I mumble, using his nickname from our childhood.

  Fortunately, no one is watching. This would be hysterical if I wasn’t paranoid someone was gonna get a pic of him waving around his wang at a Cartwright event. My mother would have a coronary, especially with all the press that’s here because of my brother’s senatorial campaign.

  “Dude, don’t distract me when I’m pissing,” he slurs, not giving two fucks that he’s taking a leak on one of the city’s most well-preserved historical homes.

  The leaves rustle like it’s raining, but it’s not.

  I cringe, but I can’t hold back a laugh. So what if there are a dozen bathrooms inside the house? He’s completely not housebroken.

  He’s also completely wasted.

  Surprise, surprise.

  Averting my eyes while I wait for him to finish—he’s been drinking since before I picked him up to come here—I take in the view from my parents’ expansive lawn. Later there’ll be city fireworks over the Willamette River. But today, it’s the bright, clear kind of sun that hurts because it’s so rare. The light that makes you see things you didn’t notice before.

  We have this spectacle eve
ry year, but this time it’s different. Today is about my brother’s senatorial run.

  Spencer has gathered five hundred of his closest friends—campaign donors—who are eating finger food served in whimsical packaging on the East Lawn. Tiny Chinese takeout boxes for cold noodles. Little bamboo boxes of sushi. Miniature sliders. Most people are wearing red, white, and blue, enjoying the warm day.

  On the wide steps leading up to the house, Spencer holds court with a swarm of reporters. When they ask questions about anything too serious, my brother redirects the conversation with well-rehearsed answers. Except that’s the problem. They sound rehearsed, like all of his responses are preordained and neatly typed up on two-by-four note cards, which are probably tucked away in his suit pocket.

  Who wears a suit on the Fourth of July? That’s right. My brother.

  Eventually, he motions for Zannah to bring over the baby, and Spence wraps his arms around his family. They somehow manage to get the baby, who is sporting little red and blue overalls, to coo for the cameras for a perfect family photo.

  This is the moment he’s been waiting for—the photo op. The image that will get plastered all over every media outlet. The one that says family and tradition and values.

  Unfortunately, the main reason my brother stands a chance of winning is because the other guy embezzled a shit-ton of money. My brother’s plan is to look pretty and not say anything that rocks the boat too much.

  Which gets under my skin. Because he has a chance to do something good, to do something significant, to stand for real change.

  But he doesn’t care about the issues. He just wants to win.

  While I’d love to get into public service, I wouldn’t be able to stand having the media crawl up my ass every ten minutes and butting its nose into my private life. I don’t know how my brother can stand the intrusion. Being a member of a high-profile family is challenging enough.

  “Wait,” Spence calls out to everyone. “Get my good side.” And he turns infinitesimally in the other direction.

  Everyone laughs, and I roll my eyes.

  For a moment, I don’t know if I should be more embarrassed by my brother or my best friend, who basically lifted his leg to whiz on a bush.

  It’s a toss-up.

  Glancing at my watch, I wonder how much longer I have to stay. I want to leave and go have pizza with Drew. Or cherry pie with Evie while sitting on her front porch, watching her dog chase a squirrel. Or help Evie fix up her house. Or feel her warm, lush body next to mine.

  Evie.

  This is the first family event I’ve had to attend since we’ve gotten together. We talked about it and both agreed it would be better if she didn’t come with me.

  But being here now is like the rain cleared, and I can see—I have no interests that are the same as my family’s. I’ve changed. They haven’t. I’m into my business, my blog, my girl, and my friend, and I can’t really share any of that with my family.

  My business? I mentioned to my father that my infill project in Sellwood got approved. He congratulated me and asked when I was going to get a “big” project.

  Sellwood is nine city blocks of urban redevelopment.

  My blog? Never. I’d ruin the Cartwright reputation and tank Spencer’s campaign.

  My girl? She’s too closely tied to my blog—and she’s my lawyer. I’m not sure I trust my family to welcome her with anything other than forced politeness.

  And my friend? Unfortunately, it’s Drew we’re talking about, so they know about him. But he’s dangerous to bring when he’s this drunk. Today, my goal is to keep him from doing something too stupid. He’s got grass stains on his jeans from where he fell after the fourth shot of whiskey and six pack of beer, and his Mudhoney T-shirt is riding up his belly under his blue flannel.

  On the steps of the house, under the giant American flag, my brother calls for my parents to join him for a few photos. He straightens his tie and presses a hand over the top of his hair to make sure it’s just right before he grins at the press.

  No. I’m nothing like my family.

  Nor do I want to be.

  With sudden clarity, I realize Evie should be here. I shouldn’t give a shit if her presence bothers my family or throws a wrench in their perfect plans. Not that I want to be a deliberate pain in the ass, but being someone I’m not and trying to fit in the Cartwright mold is fucking stifling.

  And I’ve had enough.

  Evie is important to me, and I’m done trying to hide her. We can keep things quiet until we figure out a way to find another attorney, but then I’m done keeping her a secret.

  A sense of relief washes over me as I sip my beer and glance at Drew.

  I love the guy, but. Finally done, he zips his pants, burps, and throws his arm around my neck. “So why’n’cha bring the babe you’re banging?” he slurs.

  His belt is notched so that his baggy pants are gathered. I have no idea why he doesn’t buy new clothes since he’s obviously lost weight. He always looks like a 90s grunge rocker, but he doesn’t care. Guess that’s what happens when your parents own almost all the clothes in the United States.

  I take another swig of my beer and glare at him. “Nice. Real nice. Evie has a name, and you know it. You’re gonna meet her and Kendall next weekend.” Initially, I thought we could start small by introducing each other to our best friends. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

  We walk into the tent and head for an empty table. Drew’s weaving, and I play it off like he’s telling a joke.

  But he’s a little too loud. “Dude. I dunno what I can say about you these days. You’re all secrets and shit. Like, I can’t talk about anything.”

  “Secrets? What secrets?”

  My mother looms behind me, clad in Jack Rogers sandals, a sleek white pantsuit, and sparkling blouse. She stares at us with one eyebrow pointed skyward.

  Fucking Drew and his loud mouth.

  Leaning over, I kiss her on the cheek. “Nothing, Mother. Nothing.”

  She points with her nose. “I see Tiffany is here.”

  Of course.

  My eyes dart around the room. Henry and his friends are talking to Tiffany. I realize that I don’t care about her or her drama anymore. I’m over it.

  Gesturing with her hand, my mother beckons Tiffany, who is all smiles and styled hair.

  “Joshy!” she squeals exuberantly as though we didn’t have a screaming match on the drive home from the gala last month.

  Tight lipped, I nod.

  “It’s so nice to see you two talking,” says my mother.

  Even though I’ve said nothing to Tiffany.

  This shit is getting ridiculous.

  I turn to my mother, look her straight in the eye and lay it out. “Mom, I’m not going to say this again. Tiffany and I broke up, and we are never getting back together. Ever.”

  Christ. Isn’t that a pop song?

  “Josh, don’t be rude,” she hisses as she scans the horizon to make sure no one overheard. “I’m sure all you need is a little time to talk things over with Tiffany. She loves you, don’t you, darling?”

  My ex looks like she’s about to cry as she nods quickly. “I’ve always loved you, Joshy. Since we were kids.”

  What a fucking joke. I wonder if that included the time she banged her financial advisor.

  Tiffany grabs my arm, and I shrug her off. “Don’t. Remember what I told you about this shit. Do you really want to do this here?” Her eyes widen, and a second later, she steps back. About goddamn time.

  Turning to my mother, I lower my voice. “Look, I’m seeing someone else. In fact, I’d like to bring her—”

  Out of nowhere, a male voice booms, “You have a new girlfriend?”

  I turn to find a beady-eyed guy I know all too well.

  Fuck.

  It’s Gary the Gossip, Portland’s own walking, talking version of TMZ.

  I want to tell him it’s none of his goddamn business—because it isn’t—but if I snarl at him, that
will be the first thing on the blog tomorrow morning. Well, the second, if Drew hurls on his shoes. He’s looking kind of green. It’s probably wrong to want my buddy to puke in the middle of this party, but it would make for a good distraction.

  “I do. It’s not for the public, though, I’m afraid,” I tell Gary with a plastered-on smile.

  Across the way, I spot Spencer. I’m sure he’s the one who invited Gary. I’m doing this for you, brother. If you weren’t running for office, I’d tell that gossip blogger to go fuck himself, but I’ll smile and be polite so I don’t ruin your campaign.

  Drew’s response is to giggle. If he wasn’t such an idiot, it would be kind of charming.

  But he’s an idiot.

  This double life is exhausting.

  Glancing from my mother to Gary, I cringe that I have to give this shithead anything. “Tiffany and I broke up earlier this year for good. It was civil.” It wasn’t. “And we are still in the same social circles.” Unfortunately. “So now we run into each other at events like this. But I’m not unattached right now. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  I smile and say thank you and lead Drew off to the buffet table.

  Because I can’t get away from that landmine fast enough.

  23

  Evie

  When the coffee maker alarm sounds, I close the stack of files and scoot out from the kitchen table that’s set up in the staff lounge. I don’t have time to run out for coffee today, so this will have to do.

  I’m still flying high from our trip to the country this weekend and the sweet things Josh texted me this morning. I keep telling myself this is too fast, that we need to slow down, but when I’m with him, I want more. I want it all. And it’s intoxicating and exhilarating and so damn scary, I’m not sure if I should run for cover or dive deeper.

  I can’t lie. It bummed me out that we couldn’t spend the Fourth of July together, but his family seems too uptight to bombard them with the news that we’re dating at their picnic, and there wasn’t really time to discuss this with them beforehand. So maybe it’s good that Josh and I kept it simple, doing our own thing with our respective families until a good time arises where we can put our cards on the table.