by Kari Gregg
She pivoted, crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled at him. He could have told her that the stance would've made a more effective impression if she wasn't naked from the waist down and the cum he'd shot into her hadn't seeped into the neat thatch of hair between her thighs.
His dick twitched.
Damned thing had a mind of its own.
"What are you doing, Mitch?"
He bent, snagged her skirt and shoes from the parking lot, but he knew she'd yank her clothes back on, maybe demand to leave if he gave the skirt back, so he shoved the shoes at her and stuffed the rest into the front of his jacket. "Just wrap your coat around yourself. My front door's only a few feet away."
She lifted a foot to slide one of her gray pumps on. "No, Mitch. I want to know what you think you're doing."
Temper unfurled inside him. His lips compressed to a scowl. "Trying to get your bare ass into my place before anyone else sees it. That's what I'm doing." She stepped into her other shoe. "You're treating me like a whore."
"I'm treating you like a lay. A damned good one. A woman I want to get a lot hotter and sweatier with. Isn't that what you wanted?" He jerked his chin toward the apartment building.
She hugged herself with rigid arms she'd crossed over her chest. "You hit me—"
"Swatted." He lifted a defensive hand. "I swatted your butt. I did not hit you."
"—finger-fucked my ass, in a public space, where anyone could see . . . ." Anxiety curled his gut, because she was right.
Mitch was a sexual freak. He saw no point in lying to himself. Whether his appetites had been born in him or were the product of his less-than-stellar formative years, didn't matter. When it came to sex, Mitch pushed the boundaries. Regularly. Wasn't much he hadn't tried and less he hadn't enjoyed.
Still, he kept that part of him wrapped down tight, introduced it to the women he dated bit by bit, if he revealed that side of himself at all. Always tended to scare lovers away.
But this was Liv.
He'd thought . . . .
His shoulders slumped.
He didn't know what damned fool nonsense had raced like rats through his fevered head, but obviously, he'd been wrong.
He reached forward, slid his fingers into the dark hair at her ears so he could cup her cheek in his palm and stare into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I got carried away." She frowned at him. Her fingers lifted to clasp his. "Slow down, okay? You're going too fast for me."
Desire spiked through his skull, made his body clench.
Slow down wasn't no.
Wasn't even close.
Need stirred his dick, but he mustered a smile. "So I shouldn't tell you that one of my neighbors watched us."
He grinned when her eyes widened.
He jerked his gaze over his shoulder. "Sounds like he's next to the dumpster." She gulped. "You're joking."
He moved in closer, drawing her body to his. "And I shouldn't tell you that the idea of a stranger watching me fuck you, listening to you come, turns me on so bad my bones ache?"
Her dark eyes focused on his. "Somebody's over there? Seriously?" He weighed the benefits of a white lie, but opted for the truth. "Yeah." Her jaw dropped. "Oh my God."
"Look on the bright side. He was only taking out the garbage so he probably didn't have a phone on him."
Her eyes rounded. She gaped at him. "Oh. My. God."
He laughed. He could tell her that there were already pictures of him floating around the Internet, not to mention one very interesting video—and that was just the crap he knew about—but she'd be appalled. "C'mon, baby. Time to go in." When he turned to guide her away, her fingers dug into his arm. "Mitch! I'm half naked."
"He watched me lick you. He's seen me spank your bare ass." His eyebrow arched. "It's a little late for modesty, don't you think?" She snatched at the lapels of her coat to cover herself as he grabbed her hand and dragged her to the sidewalk. "I will never forgive you for this." Mitch shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Good evening," he called out toward the dumpster, snickering when Liv squealed in outrage. "Nice night for a walk, aye?"
A figure emerged from the shadows, the wiry blond who lived in 308-D, two doors down. Mitch's apartment was a corner unit, only one bedroom, but the interior apartments of the building had two and three bedrooms. The blond shared his with two equally young and upwardly mobile roommates. Mitch couldn't remember seeing this one with a girlfriend, but that didn't mean squat since he hadn't cared enough to pay attention.
"Nice night for a show," the blond said in reply, slowing to a halt a few feet away. "I'm Sam. Sam Lawson. I'm in 308."
"I know."
Sam wore baggy sweats with a hole in one knee, a t-shirt from whatever Podunk college he'd emerged from, battered high-tops and no socks. Stubble shadowed his jaw and his honey-streaked hair stood up in spikes at one temple, as though the kid had been running his fingers through it. No erection tented his crotch so Mitch assumed the guy had beaten off in time with his and Liv's furtive fucking. Which pleased him considerably. "I'm Mitch." He nodded. "She's Olivia." Liv buried her mortified face in her hands.
He grinned at his neighbor. "She's shy."
When Sam laughed, Mitch decided he and his new friend understood each other completely. "She's amazing. Next time you want an audience, let me know. Anytime, anywhere." He eased by them, whistling as he strutted down the sidewalk. Liv turned on him when Sam disappeared, her back ramrod stiff. "You're despicable."
Mitch smothered a chuckle.
Yeah.
Pretty much.
He tugged on her hand. "C'mon."
She yanked her hand back. "I'm not going anywhere with you." She planted her feet, dug in her heels. "Take me back to my car. Now." Mitch was as contrary as the next man. He liked putting that incensed—and interested—spark in a woman's eyes. But enough was enough.
He released her.
Without his hand to pull against, Liv stumbled.
"You wanted it as much as I did." He frowned at her. "I tried to get you inside when I realized Sam was there."
Her eyes iced over. "You knew he was there— and you didn't tell me," she said through clenched teeth.
Mitch's stomach somersaulted.
Okay.
Even by his standards, that had been a shitty thing to do. "All right, I'll give you that. I should have said something. I like people to watch me, but I shouldn't have made that decision for you." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I won't do it again." She froze, blinked her stunned eyes at him. "You like to be watched?" Mitch was not a stupid man.
Normally.
"Yeah, I like it. I like a lot of things." He jerked his shoulder, darted a glance that he hoped she interpreted as awkward and embarrassed. "Why don't we go inside? Talk. We got mixed up in this so fast . . . ." He rocked back on his heels. "Things got out of hand."
Her body relaxed. "We just need to set some ground rules." He sighed.
Mitch had never met a rule he hadn't been tempted to break.
Chapter Seven
"No multiples partners," she said, tipping her head up from the crook of his shoulder to meet his gaze.
As soon as he'd gotten her into his apartment, he'd suggested a shower. She was a sticky mess and so was he.
He hadn't taken her in the shower.
He'd warmed them both up, though.
Then Mitch had tumbled her into his bed and they'd screwed until she was messy again.
Normal screwing.
Face to face, their bodies moving and straining against each other. It'd been good. As good as the sex that first night with her, and that had been pretty freaking hot. They were not in a public space.
No one watched them.
He hadn't turned her over his knee and swatted her ass cherry red. Or fucked it. He hadn't suggested that Sam join them in bed, either.
He stifled his grin.
No, Liv had introduced that subject all on her lonesome.
"It wouldn't have to be Sam," Mitch said, since she seemed so inte
rested in it. Hell, if she was game—and it definitely looked like she was game—he was interested himself. "If he doesn't turn you on, we can find someone else." He skimmed her shoulder with a tired, lazy finger.
She propped herself up on his chest with one elbow, staring at him between narrowed eyes.
Narrowed, reproving, but very interested eyes.
"How could you want me to—?"
"Fuck two guys?" he asked when she paused, fumbling around the words.
"How could . . . sharing me," she said, shooting a glare at him, "with somebody else appeal to you? I could understand another woman. Most men entertain fantasies about being with two women, but another guy?"
Mitch could have told her that balling two women was a lot of work. That he only had one dick, and the basic mechanics of that dick dictated it function only a limited number of times each night. Sure, God gave him a mouth, a tongue, and the skill to use both, but his experience with female-heavy threesomes had led to a lot of chick-on-chick action that hadn't involved him because he'd been fighting to staple his brains back into his skull.
Instead, he caught a stray lock of her hair, twined it around his finger. "You'd be satisfied, completely satisfied. More than you've ever been in your life, with anyone. Including me." His lips curved. "We'd sexually exhaust you. You have no idea how sexy that is."
She bit her lip.
"Another man takes the pressure off, too." He gave her hair a tug. "Sharing you means sharing the responsibility for pleasing you. If I can't make you come, my partner will. That gives me the freedom to enjoy the sex more."
"You like it better?" She batted his hand from her hair. "With another guy?"
"With another guy to pick up the slack, I can be selfish." He shrugged. "With two of us pleasing you and each other—"
"Each other?" Her eyebrow arched.
Mitch shoved down sudden, screaming anxiety and stared at her, his eyes direct.
"Yes, each other."
She gaped.
He wanted to crack a joke, say something to distract her, to let it slide. But that was the cowardly part of him: the little boy inside that still flinched every time Gary called him a fag. He blew out a long breath. "How much would depend on the man. If he doesn't swing that way, if neither one of us is attracted, I don't need it to have a good time."
She stared at him like he'd transformed into a ten-tentacled alien. He rubbed at his throbbing temple.
Disappointment settled over him like a shroud. "If it bothers you that much, I won't touch him. Sam looked straight as a fucking arrow, anyway." He nudged her off his chest so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm thirsty. Want anything from the kitchen?"
She wrapped her fingers around his arm. "Mitch."
He shook her off, stood. "We never did eat. You must be hungry." He crossed to his dresser, snagged a pair of gym shorts from a drawer.
"Stop. Will you hold on a second?"
The sheets rustled behind him as he pulled on the shorts, but he didn't meet her eyes. "I have a couple pieces of fried chicken left from dinner, cold cuts for sandwiches—"
Threading her arms around his waist, she hugged him from behind. He stiffened, his arms outstretched.
Her smooth cheek rested against his shoulder blade. "You can't drop a bomb like that then run."
Sure he could.
But Mitch lowered his arms. Accepted the embrace. "I'm not gay, Liv." She laughed, her breath fanning the skin of his back. "I figured that out all by myself."
He chuckled, felt the tension drain from his muscles. "Yeah. I guess so."
"I'll think about it. With Sam."
Yeah, he'd figured. He could practically hear the idea gnawing at her brain like hungry rats. Mitch decided to buddy up to Mr. Sam Lawson of apartment 308-D, take him out to play ball one night, see what kind of man he'd soon be sharing his woman with.
She squeezed his stomach. "What else?"
"Hmm?" He lifted a shoulder so he could slide her underneath his arm, pull her to his chest, where he could see her eyes. Hold her.
"What else are you hiding that might freak me out?" Her smile shook, but he gave her points for trying. "You like sex in public, spanking, anal sex, and group sex that includes gay lovers," she said, ticking each off on her fingers.
"I don't like group sex." Acid churned his belly. "Too impersonal." Her brow furrowed. "Mitch, I just said I'd think about Sam. You want me to think about Sam."
God save him from naïve children. Mitch rolled his eyes. "A threesome is not group sex." Not compared to the group sex he'd been involved in, anyway. She bit her bottom lip.
Which was guaranteed to kick his pulse up a notch.
"It really doesn't bother you?" Her fingers trailed over his chest. "Me, you, and another man?"
He hummed low in his throat. "No." She was so soft, her skin silky and warm against his. "I want it as much as you do."
"What if I'm not as . . . I don't know . . . liberated as you?" She traced a pattern of spirals above his heart. "What if it bothers me to watch a man touch you?" He nudged her chin up with one finger. "You don't have to be anyone except who you are, Liv. If you don't like screwing in public, we won't. If you don't want me to spank you or tie you up—"
Her eyes rounded. "You want to tie me up?"
"Hell, yeah." He grinned. "I want you tied and blindfolded while Sam and I do whatever the hell we want to you. Makes me hard just thinking about it." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Do you want to tie me up? We can play it both ways. I don't mind." Mitch's body trembled. Being under her power, at her mercy, would be interesting. What would she do with him?
"I don't know. Maybe." She shivered. "At least, it's not as weird as Sam."
"Think about it." But he knew she was already thinking about it, thinking hard. He wrapped his arms around her. "If something's too bizarre and you honestly don't want to try it, I'll accept that. But give it fair consideration first." She gnawed on her bottom lip. "I genuinely don't like anal sex." Mitch grunted.
He'd been expecting that. "If you'll let me try, I bet I can change your mind." She regarded him dubiously. "I doubt it."
"Think about it." He grinned. "And think about Sam." She frowned.
He laughed. "Don't worry about it tonight." He grabbed her hand, led her to the door. "Let's go loot the kitchen. I'm hungry."
She pulled back, a playful smile on her lips. "I'm naked." He stripped his shorts down his hips, kicked them off. "Me, too."
"You don't have any curtains up."
"Most of the windows are blocked by boxes." He wriggled his eyebrows. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Sam'll be outside, watching again."
She snickered. "You're a degenerate."
"Yeah, but that's what you like about me."
* * * * *
Liv became his regular Friday night date.
Not that they were dating.
He checked on Gary.
She spent the evening with her dad and her sister, Cheryl. Sometimes, she was leaning against her car when Mitch left his father's, but Mitch usually waited for her. And they fucked like bunnies.
She'd let him tie her up the first Friday after the parking lot and Mitch had taught her to love his cock up her ass. "It's all in the timing," he'd told her as he'd fondled her clit. "You have to be ready. Primed. Not just your ass. Your whole body. So every part of you is lit up and aching for me to fill you." He'd grinned at her increasingly harsh pants. "That's what it should be about—filling you up until you feel like you're going to burst. Not hammering into you like a rutting bull. Taking my time. When I finally push into you, you'll be eager—if not begging—for a slow, easy screw." And she had been.
Liv had zero problems with him touching her ass now.
None.
She was still wary of Sam, though.
Mitch had noticed him more and more frequently around the apartment complex. They'd exchanged waves, the occasional "good morning" and "hey, how ya doin'?" if Sam's Camri was parked near his
truck, but Mitch hadn't cornered him for a game of ball yet.
Mitch had written him off as a skinny little bastard that night in the parking lot, but Sam's shoulders filled out the suit jackets he wore to work surprisingly well. His hair, the color of warm honey, looked a hell of a lot better once he'd run a comb through it. Without the layer of stubble, his jaw wasn't as soft, either. The boy was reasonably attractive, in a polished sort of way.
Not his type usually.
But Liv would love him.
She'd eat him right up.
A smile stretched Mitch's lips.
"Oh, shit. There he goes again."
Mitch shot a glance at his partner. "There I go again what?"
"Daydreaming," Artie said and snorted. The fifty-year-old construction worker had found Mitch crashing at a house Artie'd contracted to rehab when Mitch was sixteen. He'd put Mitch's ass to work because nobody, according to Artie, squatted free on his job site. Artie had taken him in, given him a reason to hold his head up, and when Mitch was old enough, had earned it, Artie had offered a full partnership in his business.
Artie was Mitch's father in all the ways that counted.
"When you're distracted like this," he said, "you're thinking about a woman." Mitch sipped his coffee.
He may not be thinking about a woman at all, and Artie knew that, but they both kept up the pretense at work. The rest of the country may have moved forward, but the craftsmen and day laborers their business relied on might balk at a foreman they suspected was queer. Even only part-queer.
"I'm too busy with Gary to date."
Which was true.
Mitch and Liv had never been on a legitimate date, unless you counted lunch at Sizzler after their first night together.
He didn't.
And he was damned sure Liv wouldn't.
No matter their physical perfection in bed, Liv would run like hell if he ever suggested doing anything with her outside it.
"You're one more divorce away from living in your truck, son." Artie shoved receipts and work orders into a thick, brown expandable file. "Do yourself a favor and get a pre-nup before you marry this one."
Mitch's lips thinned. "It's not like that."
Artie arched an eyebrow.
