Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  “Well, that’s a bit retro,” he said with a chuckle.

  She looked down between her legs to the—trimmed, thank you very much—triangle of hair.

  “It’s trimmed!” she protested, bringing one foot up to kick him lightly in the chest. “If I’d known I’d be meeting Mr. Wrong tonight I would have groomed to your exact specifications.”

  She brought her hands down to grab the sides of the thong that was halfway down her thighs, pulling them back up out of his hands

  Alex laughed and gripped her hands, pulling them back down to her sides. “Stop. I like playing a bit of find-the-man-in-the-boat anyway,” he said with a wink up to her.

  She bit back the smile that wanted to come to her lips, as he finished taking the underwear off. She stepped out of them and waited, knowing what was coming next and relishing it. She quickly turned her head to look outside. She could see the lights of the bridges in the distance.

  Alex hooked one arm underneath her left knee and brought it over his shoulder. The other hand came up, fingers running through the short curls to spread her open even wider. She leaned back against the glass as he dived in tongue-first. The first flick made her gasp in pleasure. The moment he circled her clitoris with his lips she collapsed against the glass, sinking into him.

  He flexed his shoulder to support her quivering thigh and brought his hands up around to grab her ass, holding her up as she melted. His mouth went to work, sucking, flicking, and circling the tiny sensitive nub like a miniature pinwheel.

  “Oh, Alex,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  He just murmured against the tiny button, causing even more ripples of pleasure to run through her body. Brooklyn pressed her cheek into the glass as both her hands came up to grasp the thick head of hair, massaging his head, pressing him into her, deeper and deeper.

  If he wanted to make her forget about any other man, he was doing a damn fine job of it. Her thoughts were consumed by the mouth between her legs, tasting her, pleasuring her, making her completely lose control of all her senses. If it hadn’t been for his strong shoulder, the hands holding her up by the ass, and the window she was leaning against, she would have been a puddle on the floor.

  The hands around her ass cheeks crept inward until two fingers of one hand were inside her pussy, pressing along the slick walls. A finger from the second hand probed her other hole, using the juices she was already soaked with to sink in. The sensation of having her clit stimulated while two fingers pressed hard against her g-spot and a third penetrated her ass was too much. They didn’t call it The Shocker for nothing. She arched back hard and grabbed his hair screaming out in pleasure.

  “Holy fuuuck!” she cried out, ending it with a whimpering mewl.

  At that point she couldn’t take any more. She reluctantly pushed his head away, knowing that if he went on she’d lose complete control. She felt the resistance on his part and almost gave in…until another shuddering orgasm ran through her, making her already weak body ache.

  “Please,” she moaned, tugging at his hair. “I can’t take anymore.”

  Finally he pulled away, removing his fingers and setting her down. She looked down to see him licking her juices from his upper lip and chin.

  “Who’s your daddy now?” he smiled.

  Brooklyn laughed.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex got up from the floor, still covered in the intoxicating smell and taste of her. He took her hand and, without a word, led her over to the bed. He’d done his part to get her ready, now he wanted his own satisfaction. His dick had been hard from the moment he’d had that first taste of her.

  He watched her watching him as he took off his shirt. He felt a momentary flicker of pride as a sparkle of admiration came to her eyes looking at his naked torso. His nights may have been spent in various bars and night clubs, but his days were spent staying in shape. Image was still important in his profession, which he took very seriously, even if others didn’t.

  “Go on” she said with a smile, rolling her finger in a circle, encouraging him to continue undressing. He was more than happy to comply—having exactly zero issues with his body.

  He stood on one leg, clumsily pulling off one Converse shoe without bothering to untie it, then doing the same with the other foot.

  He paused before getting to his jeans, enjoying the momentary bit of upper hand he had as she stood there naked and waiting. Eventually catching on, she put her hands on her curvy little hips, hitching them to one side. This did nothing to abate the boner that was also eagerly anticipating the removal of his pants. He grinned and undid his fly, pushing his jeans down his legs, taking the boxers down with them. His dick sprang out with ravenous anticipation.

  Brooklyn cocked her head to the side, examining what he had to offer. He took on his best Superman impression, chest out, fists on hips, legs spread, eight inches of cock standing proudly at attention.

  “Not too bad,” she declared. “But do you actually know how to use that thing?”

  “Bend over and I’ll show you,” he said right back to her with a grin.

  Her cocked head came right back up with indignation. “Well, you certainly know how to turn a girl on.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said strutting over to her, his erection leading the way. “Remember, I’m in charge tonight.”

  “Is that a fact?” she laughed.

  “Are you gonna do what I say, woman?” he growled. “Or am I going to have to make you?”

  “Okay,” she said giving him an indulgent smile. She leaned over and placed both palms on the edge of the bed, sticking her full, round ass up in the air. The image was more enticing than he expected, and boy was his dick letting him know.

  That’s when he noticed the tattoo running down her back. “What have we here?” he asked, moving closer to inspect the line of foreign characters running all the way down her back to her ass.

  It took her a moment to figure out what he was referring to. She laughed. “No,” she said, firmly.

  “Please tell me it’s not YOLO in…Sanskrit?” he asked, trying to figure out the characters.

  “Very good,” she said, impressed at his grasp of the characters. Then she quickly added, “about the language, not the words.”

  “What could possibly be worse than YOLO?”

  “I was nineteen when I got it,” she said, as if that answered his question.

  “Come on,” he pleaded.

  “No.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” he added.

  She laughed. “No.”

  “I’ll tell you what mine means.”

  She turned her head to look at the tattoo covering his shoulder and arm. “It’s your basic frat boy, tribal tattoo! You probably got it just to look cool,” she laughed.

  “Exactly,” he pointed out with a laugh. “Now what could be more embarrassing than that?”

  She laughed. “Okay, it says ‘Art is my life, My life is Art.’”

  “That’s beautiful,” he responded. “At least you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Well I hope you’re happy,” she said. “Now are we going to stand here talking tattoos all night. I’m kind of primed and ready here,” she said, wiggling her ass and giving him a teasing smirk.

  “Almost,” he mused. “Spread your legs.”

  She kept her impish smile turned toward him as she spread her legs, revealing everything to him. Even with the minimal light from outside, he could see how turned on she was, as it reflected off the slick folds of her pussy.

  He stood there watching, letting her succumb to her vulnerable and fully exposed state. Alex walked over and cupped one hand over the middle, his palm resting against the line between her ass. He slid his middle finger into the slit, letting it glide easily along the inner lips down to circle her clitoris and back up to penetrate the warm wet embrace in the middle.

  “So fucking wet,” he muttered as she moaned underneath his touch.

  “Don’t,”
she moaned softly, her back curving upward. He saw her thighs shake beneath his caress.

  He would have continued on, just to tease her, but his own body was telling him it was either now or never. He reached down into the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out his wallet where he kept a condom. He opened it and rapidly unrolled it over his length, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

  As he guided the thick head along her dripping slit, he desperately wished he could feel that wet heat skin-to-skin. That would have been pushing it for tonight. One day, maybe.

  As if guided by some internal signal on her part, his head found its way to the Promised Land all on its own. Alex grabbed the flesh of her hips and gripped hard as he thrust his own hips forward, penetrating her with a loud grunt. They both groaned as he popped through. Despite her continually flowing juices he had to ease his way in, feeling the pressure as her inner walls offered their own resistance. It was enough to almost make him come before he even reached the hilt. Still, he held back, embracing the feel of her wrapped around his cock.

  “Jesus, Brooklyn,” he murmured, “You’re so fucking tight.”

  He went as far as her body would allow and stayed there, cementing the feeling to memory before pulling back out. He pushed back in slowly, once again straining to hold back as her soft insides pressed against his shaft. The swell of a climax built up inside of him as he pumped back out and in again, going faster and faster.

  Despite his fierce grip on her hips, Brooklyn did her part, pushing back against him as she bucked her hips along to his rhythm. He could hear her heavy breathing as his monster stimulated her innermost sensitive spots. Breathing turned to mewls, then moans as the pressure increased.

  “Alex, Alex, Alex,” she repeated with a mantra-like chant.

  The air was thick with the sound of his balls slapping against her wet thighs and clitoris. Pretty soon his own thighs were dripping with the evidence of her pleasure. The scent of their animalistic fucking penetrated the room and only increased his need for release. He focused hard, working with strained concentration as he tilted his body so that his head stroked just the right spot inside of her.

  “Uhnnn,” she moaned in response.

  He felt her body get tense under the fingers that dug into her hips. He continued pressing his cockhead into her G-spot until the tension reached her core. The walls of her pussy grabbed his dick like a warm wet fist, squeezing with pulsating vibrations as she screamed out her orgasm beneath him. As the last shuddering echoes rippled through her body, Alex gave his own body permission to release the dam.

  He slammed hard into her one final time, groaning with satisfaction. He stayed inside of her until his balls were completely empty and his dick could no longer maintain its erection.

  He let go of her hips and she immediately collapsed on the bed, exhausted. He fell down next to her, breathing in time with her. They were both covered in a sheen of sweat and the smell of sex.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “That was…impressive.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  She laughed and he joined her.

  “So, is the part where you call me a taxi?” she asked after a minute.

  Alex’s forehead creased in annoyance. “Is that what you really think of me?”

  She shrugged next to him. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

  “Well, I have a better idea,” he suggested. “Let’s take a shower.”

  He saw her look down at her their bodies and nod. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

  The shower was big enough for both of them, but they were both too spent to do anything more than wash each other’s bodies. It was soothing and sensual and a much needed relief from the earlier activity. The steam was refreshing and Brooklyn was enjoying the feel of Alex’s soapy hands massaging her body.

  This was obviously a one-night stand. He’d pretty much said as much when he indicated that she could go back to Michael—who wasn’t technically “hers”—on Monday. Despite that, this had probably been the most enjoyable night of sex she’d ever had in her young life. She figured she might as well savor it while it lasted.

  “I have an idea,” Alex said above the noise of the shower. “Do you trust me?” he asked loudly in her ear. She looked up at him with a guarded smile, but nodded all the same. Her eyes flew open in surprise as he got on his knees in the shower. She didn’t think she could take another round of that. Her body was still recovering from the few hours before.

  He reached up to the shelf where he had various toiletries and he grabbed a can of shaving cream and a razor. He removed the disposable head and grabbed a new one.

  She laughed when she realized what he was up to.

  “Close your eyes,” he shouted.

  “What?!” she responded with alarm.

  “Trust me,” he grinned. Her body was blocking most of the brunt of the shower water, but he still looked ridiculous with water dripping down his flattened hair.

  She shook her head with a suspicious smile, but closed her eyes all the same. She leaned back as he mimicked his maneuverings from earlier that night, hooking one arm under her knee and placing it over his shoulder. She sighed as she felt the thick foam of shaving cream cover her pubic area. She stood still, one hand on his free shoulder for balance as she dutifully kept her eyes closed while he went to work. It was an odd feeling, his hands tugging and pulling her mons and lips until she felt the tell-tale sign of completely unobstructed skin hitting the steamy air. He was working some kind of design into her triangle up top.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “You can look.”

  She opened her eyes with eager curiosity and looked down to see his creation.

  “What the fuck?!” she laughed.

  Chapter Eight

  “What, the fuck!?”

  London Jefferson needed a moment. It was only fair. Just one, tiny, minuscule amount of time to register the fact that ten years of her life had just been flushed down the toilet. Ten years. Ten fucking years!

  “Now just stay calm, London.”

  She looked over at Clayton across the table from her with pure, unadulterated, seething hatred in her eyes. Stay calm? Stay calm? He had a lot of nerve.

  “I know this is a shock, but—”

  “Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just…shut up.”

  He had the good sense to do just that.

  She could feel her breath coming in faster. Dear god, she was going to hyperventilate. It was bad enough she had just been dumped. The cherry on top of this little sundae would be having a panic attack in one of New York’s finest restaurants, in front of everyone.

  She had been sure that this was the night, the night that they sealed the deal, finally. Everyone had been sure: her friends, her family, even the staff at the firm.

  Clayton and she had been together since undergrad. They were the typical Spelhouse (Spelman-Morehouse) duo. They’d even gone to Howard University for law school together. When all her friends—their friends—had jumped the broom, she just assumed it was only a matter of time before it was her turn—their turn.

  Then, their friends all started having babies…and wondered. They bought houses in the suburbs and outer boroughs…and wondered. They did playdates and planned birthday parties… and wondered.

  Then, out of the blue, Clayton had invited her to Per Se and she just knew—everyone just knew. In fact, her girlfriends were eagerly awaiting the update after the question was popped. But it hadn’t been a question. It had been a pronouncement.

  Clayton Moore was dumping her.

  At least now they could all stop wondering.

  She could feel her self panicking all over again. No, she would not go down like that. Not for this bastard. She grabbed the glass of red pinot noir and took a huge gulp.

  “That’s a good idea; just have a drink and—” Clayton cut himself off when he saw her expression.

  Her grip on the glass tightened. She saw Clayton’s eyes shi
ft from her venomous glare down to the hand clenching the glass. As if reading her thoughts he put his hands up.

  “Now, London,” he protested, “I know you’re upset, but let’s be reasonable here. Do you really want to make a scene? This is a $300 suit!”

  His suit? He had just driven a dagger in her heart and all he was thinking about was his fucking suit? Her grip tightened.

  Instead of throwing it in his face, which the baser part of her wanted desperately to do, she took another long swig. It was followed by a deep breath. She put the glass down before she did something stupid. She wasn’t about to embarrass herself for this…man sitting across from her.

  She closed her eyes and took several more breaths. There had to be an explanation, a reason. Why would he break up with her after ten years together? She wanted answers—deserved answers!

  “I don’t understand, Clayton,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “I thought we were good.”

  “It’s not you, London,” he said, a placating tone in his voice.

  “Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’” she threatened. After ten years she deserved more than that tired line.

  “No, it’s…it’s your father,” he sighed.

  That one threw her. Her eyes flew open wide. “What?” asked said with genuine shock. “What does my father have to do with us?”

  “Well,” he sighed again and took a sip from his glass of wine. “You know I have political ambitions. It’s how I’ve finally worked my way up to Senior Legislative Assistant for Dion Davis.”

  “You mean the Dion Davis who my father”—she made sure to stress the word—“helped get elected state representative? Who my father”—she stressed the word again—“is helping to get elected mayor of New York?”

  “And we totally appreciate that,” he was quick to admit.

  “So what exactly is the problem?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  He gave her a long, wary look. “I just need to be associated with a family that’s not so…controversial.”