by Genna Rulon
God, I nearly choked when she told me she was unable to climax. It was hard enough to believe she’d never come, but her embarrassment was too evident for it to be a lie. It was sad, actually. That she was convinced something was wrong with her was ludicrous.
Meg oozed an instinctive sensuality, completely without artifice. Her every response was honest and unrehearsed. No overdramatized moans or screaming. No obnoxious shrieks or flailing. I swore women watched entirely too much porn, replicating the dramatized orgasms they saw on-screen, believing that’s what a man wanted. Hell no! A real man wanted a woman to fall apart for him in her way, not feigning pleasure that’s so transparent the actress might as well be reading the phone book while wearing a muumuu. Not, Meg—she was a snake charmer beguiling me with her spell of authenticity.
That is what Meg gave me—100% pure Meg and 100% participation. She never lay there like a lump, waiting for something to be done to her, or for me to be done. Even when I was feasting on her, there were small caresses that let me know she was with me. And when I was inside her, she gave everything. She rode me hard, working my cock like a prize winning bull rider despite her lack of experience on the rodeo circuit. She reached for her own satisfaction unapologetically but cared equally about mine.
No, I wasn’t done exploring her body. I hadn’t memorized every nuisance yet, and I needed more of her sweetness on my lips. I wasn’t done feeling her pussy grip my cock like a vice, milking me until I was wrung dry. Shit, I hadn’t even felt her lips wrapped around my cock yet. I wasn’t done. Period.
The best part—that’s a lie, the second best part—was that I liked her. When we weren’t fucking or napping, I liked listening to Meg and trying to figure her out. She was innately good and had a subtle innocence that was beguiling without being cloying. Nonetheless, she was complex. She honestly didn’t want commitment, but she seemed starved for connection. Her words and deeds reflected her integrity, though her eyes were shadowed with hidden darkness. It was obvious there were secrets locked deep within that she was unwilling to share.
A huge part of my professional success was determined by my ability to read people, to ascertain their motivations and detect secrets and lies. Meg set all my alarm bells ringing, but not because she was inherently dark. More so, it was like a darkness had been planted inside her and allowed to grow unchecked. It was independent of her spirit, but she was forced to carry its burden.
She was a mystery, wrapped in challenge and ribboned with secrets.
She was the Rubik’s Cube I was going to solve.
I debated stopping by Higher Yearning but didn’t think she’d appreciate being propositioned at work. With great effort, I resisted the urge to track her down, giving her a day I didn’t want or need. Now it was time to reengage, to entice her back to my bed while the memories of pleasure were still fresh in her mind. My efforts would be far more effective if her body was still sensitized from my pillaging.
The nagging question remained…how to make my approach? My advantage was in directness mixed with seduction. She’d consistently responded to both, one addressing her mind, the other her body. A candid invitation with whispered reminders should entice her to crawl beneath—or over—me again.
Sam advocated our tryst, championing me as the perfect ‘fuck buddy,’ which made her a resource not to be ignored. If I approached Meg with Sam nearby, she might support my cause. The tiny spitfire was my secret weapon, a steamroller to any resistance. My best opportunity to speak with both would be at Sam’s house—all I needed was an excuse.
An hour later, inspiration struck. Armed with a plan, I headed to the shower to get ready for my impromptu ‘date.’
Window-stalking yet again, I waited until Meg’s car returned before heading over. Jumping the low hedges between our homes, I walked to their door with confidence, prepared to handle whatever the spunky ladies threw my way. A few knocks and the door swung open—clearly I hadn’t planned for all contingencies.
“What do you want, Black?” a bronzed Hunter asked, not bothering to mask his big-brotheresque disapproval.
I sighed to myself, suppressing the overwhelming desire to plow through the obstacle before me. Nothing with Meg ever came easily, and most of the time it was a part of her charm. But in the case of the FBI agent currently barricading the door, it was a pain in the ass!
“Good to see you, too, Agent Charles. I understand congratulations are in order,” I said, attempting to smooth his ruffled feathers.
All I received was a blank stare.
This guy must be fantastic in an interrogation room. I wanted to confess and I had yet to do anything wrong—at least in my opinion.
“Is Meg home?” I inquired after a lengthy stare-down.
I would have bet a year’s salary he was about to shut the door in my face when lady luck intervened.
“Babe, who’s at the door?” I heard Everleigh question as she approached. “Well, well, well…if it isn’t Westly Black—in the flesh.” The innuendo was impossible to miss—it was obvious the girls had been gossiping.
“Hello, Everleigh. Congratulations on your marriage. I’m sure you were a stunning bride.”
“Hunter, love, why don’t you step back so I can invite Wes in. You’re giving the impression he’s not welcome,” Ev cooed to her husband, waving a red flag before the bull.
“He’s not,” Hunter grumbled beneath his breath, earning him a hard smack on the bicep.
“Move, you big lug, or I’ll move you myself. You know I can do it. Remember in Hawaii when you tried to block me from taking a bath and I—”
“Stop right there. Black does not need the details.”
Resigned to his loss, Hunter stepped aside, allowing Ev to open the door fully in invitation.
“We were just about to sit down to dinner, would you like to join us?” Ev offered solicitously. “Sam cooked so it’s guaranteed to be delicious.”
Foreboding warred with anticipation. Joining the feisty group of my not-so-biggest fans for dinner would give me the opportunity and time needed to slide back between Meg’s silky thighs. On the other hand, I smelled a set-up. Despite Griffin’s neutral greetings at The Stop and evidence that the women had let go of past grudges, I suspected each would relish the prospect of making me squirm. Had I mentioned that nothing—nothing—came easily where Meg was involved? And twisted as it was, I loved it. The game. The challenge. It was invigorating.
“I’d love to crash the dinner party, since my plan to invite Meg and Sam to dinner is scrapped,” I accepted, entering the house and following Ev to the kitchen.
“Sam, do we have enough food for one more?” Ev asked.
Still facing the stove, Sam replied, “Of course, you know I always make leftovers for the guys. Who’s coming to dinner?” She turned around and caught sight of me standing beside Ev. “Ohhh, this is going to be fun! No one tell Meg, let’s surprise her when she comes down from changing. If she’s dressed in the damn yoga pants and t-shirt, it’ll serve her right.”
Yoga pants and a tee sounded perfect to me. They clung to the places that mattered most and were easily removed. Sam, however, looked truly outraged by the prospect so I kept my opinion to myself.
Griffin entered the kitchen with another dispassionate nod, followed by Hunter whose glare exhibited far more contempt.
“Hey stud,” Sam shouted while ladling soup into bowls, “get our guest a drink.”
“As you wish,” came Griffin’s reply, while Hunter countered with, “Hey, what are Ev and I, chopped meat?”
“No, you are family. I don’t have to fetch you drinks. You get off your firm derrière and get it yourself…and grab Ev’s while you’re at it,” Sam shot back.
“Do you see what marriage has done to me? I used to win all of these little exchanges—now Sam and my wife have both schooled me in under ten minutes,” Hunter playfully griped.
“True…but would you change it?” Griffin asked.
“Not for my life.”
“You’re the expert,” I returned, grateful for his amiable tone. Perhaps my suspicions had been a temporary bout of paranoia. Hunter was the only one discontent with my presence, but he seemed to be coming to terms, accepting he was outvoted.
“All right, everyone sit down, dinner’s ready. Wes, you take the left seat by the window. Megawatt, get your butt down here!” Sam finished, her voice echoing thanks to the vaulted ceiling of the adjoining great room.
“On my way,” Meg’s voice returned, accompanied by the sound of her steps on the stairs. “Sorry, I had to shower. I spilled chocolate sauce all over me. I was—”
“Hello, beautiful. I would have been happy to help you clean up the sticky mess. Maybe I should inspect you after dinner to ensure you didn’t miss any spots,” I greeted her, taking a moment to absorb her beauty. Even in a t-shirt and the stretchy black pants all women loved, she was stunning.
“I…you…” she paused, shaking her head as if trying to clear her vision. “You’re here. Having dinner. With,” she glanced around the table, “everyone.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, structuring the question with the correct answer.
“Um, no? I mean…why would I? I was just surprised to see you after…” She cleared her throat nervously. “Anyway, of course you’re welcome to join us. We’re neighbors, after all. But, uh, how is it you wound up joining us?”
“He came over to invite you and Sam to dinner. I invited him to join us instead,” Ev explained with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Maybe my concerns weren’t unfounded.
“Oh. Okay,” Meg said, shifting from foot to foot, still anchored several feet from the table. The only empty seat was conveniently beside mine.
Enjoying her discomfort more than I probably should, I patted the vacant seat, “Come sit down, the soup smells delicious.”
With one more scan of the table, Meg shrugged and sat down beside me. Feeling particularly devilish, I leaned closer to her and whispered, “Are you okay, Meg? You seem a little tense.” I lingered in her space, forcing her to respond with the same intimacy.
“I’m fine. Just a crazy day at work. Although I’ll admit I was thrown when I found you sitting down with the gang for dinner,” she confessed before pulling back, only to close the distance again and whisper, “Are you sure you’re up for this? I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I replied, full of self-assurance.
“We’ll see,” came her cryptic reply.
“Everyone eat. You have carrot soup infused with ginger, a goat cheese island, and crispy crouton rafts,” Sam explained.
I loaded my spoon and savored the first bite. Damn, the fireball could cook!
“It’s spectacular, Sam,” I praised sincerely.
“Oh, don’t I know it. You all better love this. I won’t even tell you how long I spent juicing carrots and ginger root.”
The kitchen remained quiet for several minutes as everyone enjoyed their first course. Making a tactical decision to score points with the women, I stood to gather the empty bowls and then carried them to the sink. I wasn’t above sucking up with the right incentive.
“Kiss-ass,” Hunter mumbled when I collected his bowl.
Griffin and Sam delivered plates of pasta with kale pesto, sliced chicken breasts, and toasted pignolis. Once again, the kitchen was as quiet as a graveyard while we inhaled the flavorful dish.
When the table was cleared, Sam served key lime cheesecake while Meg poured coffee for everyone—except herself. When I raised my eyebrow in question, she winked, returning a few moments later with a cup of hot chocolate and several squares of dark chocolate on a plate.
“I’ll taste Sam’s dessert because it will be delicious, but for me, it’s all about the chocolate. No coffee or tea—either Lindt Dark Chocolate with Sea Salt or hot chocolate. Sometimes both,” she added with a mischievous smile.
“A chocoholic. Interesting. This is definitely a fact I can put to good use in the future,” I teased, reaching under the table to squeeze her thigh playfully. When she didn’t react, I left my hand in place while she recapped her day at Higher Yearning for Ev’s benefit. When she launched in to sales figures, I slowly slid my hand up her leg, encroaching on her center but stopping a millimeter from the sweet spot.
Her breath caught momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure to answer Ev’s question. I was gloating internally until she surprised me by slouching ever-so-slightly in her seat, forcing my fingers to meet her core. With the subtlety of a super-spy, she rocked her hips against my hand, gaining the friction she desired.
My plan to arouse her into an undeniable state of desperation was an epic backfire, because now I was every bit as tortured as she—and my response to her was far harder to disguise. Thankfully, everyone seemed content to continue our conversation around the dinner table.
“Why don’t we move to the couches and get comfortable? I’ll take care of the dishes later, Lo,” Griffin suggested, a smirk threatening. Bastard!
Everyone agreed readily and began to move toward the overstuffed couches.
I was screwed.
With few options, I untucked my shirt and followed the crowd into the great room, hoping that no one would notice my wardrobe alteration. This hope was quickly dashed by Meg’s self-satisfied grin, Hunter’s scowl, and Griffin’s snicker. Directing my attention to the source of my predicament, I glowered at Meg with a silent promise of retribution. Evidently, the threat of punishment was appealing because the minx winked in return.
I sat beside my temptress, pressing close, tormenting us both.
“Hey, Black. What’s it like protecting the bad guys every day?” Hunter asked snidely. “Is it rewarding when you help a rapist go free?”
My blood pressure shot through the roof. I was going to tear the condescending douche to pieces with my bare hands. As my muscles tensed for action, Meg clutched my hand in hers, soothing my blazing temper.
“For a law enforcement agent, you’re remarkably eager to toss accusations without collecting the facts. I guess that’s a common problem for you self-righteous types. I should be grateful—it makes my job so much easier when you jump to conclusions and focus on what you want to see versus the truth.” I paused to ensure I had captured the attention of the room. “I have never defended a rapist, domestic abuser, pedophile, or any of the other heinous criminals you’d like to link me with. Do I represent individuals and corporations with questionable practices? Perhaps. Are my clients guilty of embezzlement, tax fraud, and bribery? I don’t ask, but usually not, according to a jury of their peers. They pay obscene amounts of money to get themselves out of hot water, but I wouldn’t be able to keep them from boiling if you ‘good guys’ did your jobs. I operate within the constraints of the law to defend my clients. The judicial system doesn’t work if I don’t exist—prosecutors and defenders are required.”
“I hear a lot of rationalization and justification. You walk a very thin gray line between right and wrong. The balancing act would strain anyone’s conscience, provided they have one. Do you sleep easily at night?” Griffin asked bluntly, but with less animosity than Hunter.
I was getting double-teamed—raked across the coals in retribution for Sam’s suffering. Did I deserve their censure? No. Would I take it for Meg? Yes. If her friends banded together against me, there was no way she would give me the time of day.
“Do you sleep easily, Griffin? Have you ever wondered if the liquor you served led to a fatal accident when the patron that ‘seemed fine’ swerved into oncoming traffic? Do you worry that the abrasive ‘regular’ whose twenty you accepted might have gone home and beat his wife and kids?” I asked steadily, without emotion. “And Hunter, you sleep well with Ev wrapped up in your arms? You’re not haunted by the serial ki
ller you didn’t catch? How about the suspected rapist you questioned and believed was innocent, only to catch him red-handed a few months later? What about when the chain of custody is compromised and a suspected terrorist walks off scot-free?” I let my questions resonate for a moment. “It’s very easy to paint me as the villain, to make me the butt of your jokes. Point your fingers and judge me to your heart’s content—just don’t forget to turn a mirror on yourselves when you’re finished with me. I may not be a paragon of virtue, but at least I’m honest with myself, and I never pretend to be anything other than what I am.”
My phone rang, saving me from further admonishment. “Excuse me for a minute, I need to take this,” I said to no one in particular before exiting to the front porch.
“This is Wes. What can I do for you?”
"Don't have sex, man. It leads to kissing and pretty soon you have to start talking to them." -Steve Martin
Meg
“What the hell was that? You guys said you were okay with Wes. You were the ones who invited him to dinner. Was it all a set-up so you could verbally flagellate him? I mean—seriously—that was vicious! Both of you are better than that stunt you just pulled. I expected more of you,” I finished, disappointed in the ones I loved.
Saddened, I rose from the couch with the intention of tracking down Wes to apologize.
“Hold up, Meg,” Hunter pleaded. “It’s not what you think—at least, not entirely. We had a plan,” he added, gesturing to Griffin.
“Oh you did, did you?”
“I think you guys better explain what scheme you’re working. I have to agree with Meg, you both crossed the line,” Ev scolded.
“I second that,” Sam echoed.
“Hunter and I discussed it before dinner,” Griffin began. “It was one thing when you were using Black as a take-and-toss. When he showed up here this evening, that elevated things to hook-up territory. I know you don’t intend to get into a relationship, Meg, but proximity and sex can often lead to one. Hunter and I agreed that if Wes wanted to continue sniffing around and enjoying your company, he needed to prove himself worthy of your time.”
