Lovely Wicked

by Kari Gregg

  "You have a wildness in you, Mitch. There's no sense denying how much that appeals to me." She chuckled, nuzzling her chin into his shoulder. "But I didn't say I loved you."

  He stroked her hair. "That's what you meant."

  Her lips thinned. "Is not."

  "Is too." He kissed the crown of her head, settled her back against his shoulder so he could listen to her breathe. "Would it be so terrible?"

  "Yes."

  He laughed at her clipped tone. "Don't love me then. And I won't love you back." She exhaled a long, tired breath. "What we do together . . . ." She shivered. "It's powerful. Physically, we strike a match against each other and the explosion makes it too easy to pretend that it means more than it does. That it's real." Annoyance pricked. "What we have is real, babe. We just shared our bed with another man, but we're still lying on this couch, as comfortable together as an old married couple. It doesn't get more real than that."

  She propped herself on her elbow, started into his eyes. "Don't you understand, Mitch? You've just proven my point."

  He glared.

  What was it with women transforming themselves into Yoda to win a fight? "It proves that we trust each other. Completely. In every way." She shook her head. "It proves that we aren't committed to each other." He tensed, his nostrils flaring with sudden anger. "If this is your intro to the talk about how we should see other people, honey, you're about to find out how committed to this relationship I am."

  She huffed in frustration. "We don't have a relation—Oh for heaven's sake, stop growling. I don't want to see anyone else." She frowned at him. Mitch reigned in his temper. "If neither one of us is allowed to see other people outside these walls—and we sure as shit aren't," he said through clenched teeth, "we're in a relationship."

  "A physical relationship, Mitch. That's what we have and that's all we have: sex." She sighed. "We don't even call each other between Fridays. It's too easy to build fantasies when we only see each other one night every week." He traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger, curved his mouth to a wicked bow. "Two nights, this time. You promised to stay until Sunday because of Sam."

  Liv snarled his name in low warning.

  Mitch's grin faded. "If you want more, if one night a week isn't enough, why didn't you tell me? I want more of you, too. You know I do." Her glance skittered away. "It was only supposed to be sex, Mitch. You swore you wouldn't complicate my life."

  "I lied."

  He startled a laugh out of her.

  Grinning, he bent to brush his lips over hers. "Tell me you love me." She shook her head.

  "What if I admit that I'm scared, too? What if I say that I feel inadequate and I'm unsure of myself with you, too?"

  She rolled her eyes. "You do not. I've never met anyone more sure of himself."

  "Sam's dick is two inches longer than mine, babe. Trust me; feelings of inadequacy are high on my list right now."

  She smiled, kissed his lips. "Your dick is just as long as his." When Mitch snorted, she kissed him again. "Are you seriously worried that I'd choose Sam over you?" No.

  Not really.

  What they had together went miles deeper than what they did for each other in bed, went way beyond the size of his cock. He knew that, felt it in his bones. How they talked after the loving was done. The way she knew what he was feeling with only a look and how they understood each other, inside, where no one else could see. What they had with Sam was sex. Great sex, sure. But it didn't compare to what he and Liv shared between them.

  He just needed to hear her say it; hear her admit that he meant something to her, too. "Give me Wednesday nights, Liv. Give me another night each week with you." He stared into her dark eyes, let his feelings shine naked and vulnerable in his. "Sometimes, I don't think I can make it past another Wednesday without seeing you, touching you again. Give me one more night. Don't love me if you don't want to, but give me more time. I need it."

  When she bit her bottom lip, he beamed a wide smile.

  She'd argue a little longer, but he knew he'd won.

  He'd made her bite her lip.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Sam returned from his date, he fucked Liv so aggressively, even Mitch worried that he'd been too rough. Sam climbed off her, and tight-lipped, he lurched into the bathroom. Liv tipped her head, pointedly, toward the closed door. The first time any of them had closed a door, shutting the others out.

  "Something's wrong. Talk to him," she whispered, wincing as she shifted her hips. Sam had drilled them—and her—into the mattress.

  Fuck.

  Mitch removed his hand from her tits and rolled away, padding to the bathroom door. Knocked.

  "Give me a minute."

  Yeah. Right.

  Mitch stepped inside.

  Sam stared in the medicine cabinet mirror, glaring at Mitch's reflection. "Sucking your dick doesn't forfeit my right to privacy. Get out."

  "When you left, you were happy. You came back early, after what must've been a record-setting thirty-five-minute-long date, snapped our heads off, and fucked Livvy numb. Or maybe wishing you'd fucked her numb. She'll be feeling that ride for days." Bare-ass naked, Mitch leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over his chest.

  "What happened?"

  Sam's eyes glittered malignant fury at Mitch, then his shoulders sagged. He rubbed his hand over his face. Cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry." Mitch nodded.

  He believed Sam was sorry. And would be even sorrier when he returned to bed and realized how tender Liv's pussy was after the pounding he'd given it. "Talk." Sam stripped off his condom, tossed it toward the trash. Braced his arms on the bathroom sink. "My date's name was Carol. She's a nursery school teacher." Mitch nodded again.

  Not his type, but . . . . Whatever. "And?"

  Sam's mouth curved to a self-deprecating smile. "I felt guilty about taking her out within minutes of doing"—he jerked his chin toward the bedroom—"after doing . . . ." His eyes flashed at Mitch. "After doing Liv." His lip curled in ripe self-disgust. "So I took Carol to the French restaurant on Wabash."

  Yeah, he'd figured. "And?"

  Sam's gaze darted away. "Look at my neck, Mitch." He angled his jaw so the light hit his skin and—

  Mitch winced.

  Whisker burns.

  Sam's throat had been rubbed raw, the skin flaming a prickly red. From Mitch's stubble.

  He didn't bother shaving on weekends and since the blowjob in his kitchen, he'd taken a concerted interest in acclimating Sam to his hands and his mouth. He hadn't touched Sam's dick again. He wouldn't until Sammy asked him to, but Mitch had spent most of the day kissing and fondling him.

  Mitch had marked him.

  Bad.

  He peered at Sam. "The nursery school teacher noticed."

  "Not right away." Sam shifted on his feet. "I ordered our dinner first. I liked her, Mitch. I really liked her. Carol is so shy and sweet."

  Sam didn't have to say any more.

  His date sounded like the kind of woman neither one of them deserved to look at. The fragile sort. The kind of woman every man wanted to wrap in cotton and protect.

  She wasn't the girl for Sam, given the younger man's fondness for lusty sex, but Mitch had more than a few years on Sam. It'd taken Mitch his first divorce to figure out that fresh-faced girls-next-door didn't challenge him enough to maintain his interest and that he, quite frankly, terrified them. He'd wasted two years, unwilling to admit he was bored. And no matter how hard he'd tried to repress his appetites in bed, how gentle he'd worked to be with her, his timid wife had cowered at his intensity and the strength of the responses he could wring from her.

  No, sweet and innocent girls weren't for Mitch.

  They weren't for Sam, either.

  Sam just hadn't lived long enough to figure that out yet.

  "She knew exactly what this meant," he said, brushing the irritated abrasions on his neck with the edge of his fingers.

  "I'm sorry," Mitch said. He wished
he could tell the younger man not to waste his life chasing women he thought might scrub his more deviant inclinations clean. He wanted to tell Sam to look for a spitting tiger, not a scared kitten. But that was a discovery Sam would have to make for himself. "You don't have to do this, Sammy," Mitch said instead. "If what we do embarrasses you or makes you uncomfortable—" Sam whipped his body around. "Don't you understand? Don't you get it?" he shouted. "She was everything I wanted!"

  "I know. I'm sorry. What more do you want me to say? That I wish I hadn't marked you?" Foul temper snapped and snarled at him, gnawed away his good intentions. Mitch glared at him. "Forget it. I'm glad my stubble scraped you raw. I want you to see where I've touched you when you look in the mirror and remind you exactly where on your body I've been."

  "How could I forget?" Sam's blue eyes shimmered, his pain so evident in them that Mitch felt the ache slice through his anger, spear into his own gut. "How could I ever forget?"

  Mitch uncrossed his arms and pulled Sam to him. "You're going to let me have you, Sammy," he said, pitching his voice low. His heart broke at Sam's quick shudder, but he wrapped Sam in his arms anyway. "I won't apologize for wanting you or doing whatever it takes to get you. You want me, too. It's going to happen. Just a matter of time." Mitch blew out a breath and stroked Sam's naked back. "But I regret marking you where others would notice. I should've taken more care."

  "That's not it." Sam shook his head against Mitch's shoulder. "I kept checking my watch."

  Mitch's brow furrowed.

  What in the holy hell did the time have to do with anything?

  Sam's arms crept around Mitch's stomach. "I met Carol through one of my roommates, his fiancé's best friend. I harassed both of those poor women for three months to land that date. She was gorgeous, perfect in every way." He held onto Mitch, pressed his face to Mitch's neck. "But I kept checking my watch. Wondering how much longer I had to wait before I could get back to you."

  Ah.

  Mitch exhaled, ran a lazy hand up and down Sam's shivering spine. For the first time, being with a man was more important to Sam than being with a woman. The realization had shaken Sam to the core.

  "I've been planning that date for months and even before she spotted the burns you left on me, I pissed it away."

  "You're in lust, baby. And maybe falling a little bit in love." Mitch's lips curved.

  "It's natural to be excited and starry-eyed."

  "With a guy?" His gaze darted to meet Mitch's. Sam's eyes rounded in horror. "I am not starry-eyed over a man. I'm not in love with you." Yes, he was. If he hadn't been falling a little bit in love, Sam wouldn't have let Mitch rub him raw before such an important date. And if he cared more for Liv than for Mitch, Sam wouldn't have settled for Mitch comforting him, either. Men needed a woman's touch when they were dazed and upset.

  Except when they were falling . . . a little bit in love.

  Mitch's heart swelled, full to bursting.

  Liv loved him.

  Sammy was starting to.

  What more could he want?

  "Is everything okay?" Liv asked, lingering on the other side of the doorway.

  "Sam?"

  Mitch ducked to whisper in Sam's ear. "Hurt her again and how much I want you won't matter. I'll kick you out. If you need to prove you're still a man, take it out on me. Understand?"

  Sam swallowed.

  Nodded.

  "Now tell her that you're all right. She's worried about you." He nudged Sam toward her.

  Sam went into Liv's arms, hugging her close. "I'm sorry, so sorry I was rough with you," he said into her hair. But he was looking at Mitch when he said, "It'll never happen again."

  * * * * *

  And it didn't.

  Sam was a gentleman.

  His hands on Liv's body were soft, reverent. Mitch wouldn't let Sam fuck her until Liv's pussy wasn't so tender and sore. Accepting his penance, Sam dedicated himself to bringing her pleasure with his mouth and his fingers instead. Sam left before Mitch took Liv back to her car. "Can I see you next weekend?" At Mitch's fierce scowl, Sam grinned. "Both of you?"

  Liv's eyes had darted to Mitch's, held his gaze. "That's up to Mitch," she said.

  "All right." Sam bent, kissed her. He twined her arms around his neck and kissed her like he'd miss her while she was gone.

  Satisfaction strummed Mitch's pulse.

  Especially when Sam turned in Liv's arms, stared nervously at Mitch. At his mouth. He lifted a hand from Liv's back, reached for Mitch. He palmed the back of Mitch's skull, and Mitch let him pull him forward. Sam brushed his mouth over Mitch's, traced the line of his lips to ask entry, and when Mitch opened them, he slid his tongue inside to play.

  By the time Sam lifted his mouth, Mitch was sure Sammy would miss him, too.

  "Let me know," Sam said.

  After he left, Mitch drove Liv to her car. When he pulled beside her Mazda and threw the truck into park, Liv said, "About Sam."

  And that was it.

  Not another word.

  Mitch frowned at her. "What about him?"

  She bit her lip and if Mitch's cock hadn't been so utterly used by both Liv and Sammy, he might've tried to gnaw on those full, ripe lips himself.

  "Are we going to see him again?" she asked.

  Mitch's mouth curved. "Oh yeah."

  "When?"

  Mitch tapped the steering wheel, thinking. He wanted Sammy with them, always. At least until they got sick of each other, which could be today, could be next month, next year, who knew?

  But he also wanted to build a life with Liv.

  "Are you going to let me see you Wednesday night?" he asked, staring straight ahead because he honestly didn't know if he could stand the lash of her rejection if the answer was no.

  "I'll meet you at your apartment."

  "No, I'll pick you up." Because that sounded like a date to Mitch. They wouldn't go anywhere except to his bed and they wouldn't do anything other than fuck, but as far as Mitch was concerned, that just meant the date was perfect, his ideal, a fantasy date of titanic proportions. His heart stuttered in his chest, but rather than howl with wild laughter, he smiled at her. "Let's save Sammy for the weekends." She sighed his name. "Don't plan on me staying longer than Saturday next time." She glared when Mitch scowled at her. "Don't look at me like that. We were Friday nights only. I'm giving you Wednesdays. Don't be greedy."

  With that, she huffed out of his truck.

  Didn't kiss him goodbye or anything.

  Mitch didn't mind.

  He waited for her to unlock her Mazda and climb inside. He followed her downtown, until she made the right to Euclid.

  Liv talked a good game, but she'd stay next weekend, the whole weekend. Deep down, Liv wanted him. Almost as much as he needed her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam sat in the shadows of Mitch's doorstep, legs bent and spine pressed to the wall, when Mitch returned from dropping Liv off. "What's wrong, Sammy? Forget where you live?" Mitch jingled his keys, frowning when Sam didn't respond to the greeting or stand when he approached the door. "Sam?" Mitch asked when he jammed his key into the lock. Dread trickled in his veins when the younger man slowly pushed to his feet. "What's wrong?"

  When Sam moved into the light, his left eye shone a vivid blue, already swelling shut.

  Fierce anger knotted Mitch's stomach. He shoved his front door open. "Come in." Sam followed him and dropped to the sectional with a tired groan. Mitch marched to the kitchen and snagged the bag of frozen peas he kept in the freezer for the times he needed to ice his knee after basketball. He gave the bag a solid thwack against the counter to break up the chunks, then tossed it to Sam.

  Sam caught it, and leaning his head back against the spine of the couch, he plunked the bag on his swelling eye. "Thanks."

  Mitch dropped beside him on the sectional. "Is your eye the worst of it or do I need to look at your ribs?"

  Sam chuckled. "If you want to molest me, just say so, Mitch. It's not like I've
beaten you away with a stick."

  When Mitch grabbed Sam's hand from his lap—just to reach out to him, connect—Sam hissed with pain. Mitch examined the hand. Sam's knuckles were red, bruised. One had split open. Surprise—and wariness—kicked his pulse to a sprint. "Do I want to know what the other guy looks like?"

  "Guys." Sam snatched his hand away. "And no, you don't." O—kay.

  Mitch reclaimed Sam's hand, careful of his injured knuckles. The shiner told him Sam had taken a hit, but his hand proved the punishment Sam had meted out had been worse. The damage he'd caused . . . maybe considerable. Mitch swallowed reluctant anxiety. "Anyone who'd file charges?"

  Sam lifted the bag of peas with his free hand, glared at Mitch with his single, unswollen eye. "And admit a fag beat them up?" He snorted. "I doubt it." He resettled the bag to his injured face.

  Mitch stared at him, sorrier and sadder and more furious than he could remember being in years. "Whoever it was, they don't matter, Sam."

  "I need a place to stay," he said.

  Mitch winced.

  The roommates.

  "They still don't matter."

  "Thank God I'm in advertising." Sam's lips tipped to a derisive smile. "Nobody's surprised when one of us turns out to be queer."

  Mitch's lips thinned. He squeezed Sam's mutilated fingers. "You aren't gay, Sam."

  "I sucked your dick," he said, his low voice heavy with self-disgust. "And I don't think there's a square inch of my body that your stubble didn't scrape raw."

  "You fucked my girlfriend all weekend, too." Mitch waited for the clench of Sam's jaw to ease and when it didn't, Mitch took another approach. "Do you think I'm a fag, Sammy? Do I act queer to you?"

  Surprise jerked his head off the spine of the couch, dislodging the bag. Sam glared at him. "You're the least queerest acting guy I know. You work construction, for the love of God."

  Mitch nodded. "I also jerked you off, marked you up and I'll fuck you as soon as I can talk you into it. I can't wait to be inside you." He paused, let that sink in. "You're bisexual, Sam. And even if you were totally gay, it'd still be okay. I lived for five years as a gay man before someone showed me that I'd buried my heterosexuality under a lot of crap I didn't want to deal with. I was in denial, but even then, I wasn't ashamed of who I was. Don't let that eat away at you. Whoever did that to you"—Mitch waved at the mouse coloring Sam's left eye—"isn't important because they don't know you. They don't love you. They're poison."