Crosstown Crush

by Cara McKenna

  “You going to just let some other man leave his mark all over me?” She said it tenderly, the sweetest accusation.

  He brought his face close, searching for a scent, perhaps. He kissed her thigh first, two inches or more from the spot. Another kiss, closer, and then right there – a tentative glance of his tongue chased by a more forceful lap. Sam could see how he changed from the way his back tightened, tensing with pleasurable jealousy or aggression. Stroking those muscles, she imagined this territorial ritual taken further still, Mike’s tongue banishing all trace of his rival from deep between her legs.

  When he’d laved her clean, she tugged at his arm and he joined her on the bed.

  “He’s gone now,” she murmured, and he did as she hoped, picking up where they’d left off. He looked stern and cool as he took her, but she smiled her affection up at his face, then drew him down for a kiss. If any trace of Bern still lingered on his lips, she couldn’t find it. When their mouths broke apart, she let her hands continue the tour, stroking his powerful arms and back, palms riding his undulating hips as he claimed what was his. Only his.

  “Mike.”

  He moaned his reply, eyes closing.

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” He sounded pained as he said it, but a happy pain.

  Sam snaked an arm between them to tease herself, eager for the release that had been simmering inside her for so long. It took little more than her fingers’ deft friction and the spectacle of Mike unraveling above her to bring it all to a boil. She succumbed to an orgasm more deep and violent and animalistic than she’d ever have found the creativity to fake, a smaller tremor not far behind.

  Mike kept his pace through her pleasure, determined.

  “He couldn’t do that to me,” she told him, voice wavering.

  “Only me.”

  “Only you.” Perhaps Bern could be taught to make her come, but it’d take a lifetime for him to ever get close to knowing her as well as Mike did. She admired her husband’s body, thinking she’d never felt him this hard before. She made a circle with her forefinger and thumb, squeezing his shaft where it drove into her.

  “You’re so big.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Of course. You’re perfect.” She could tell him that now, and it felt good after all the make-believe. She was thankful there was still room in their sex life for praise and appreciation. It would hurt to feel she couldn’t ever watch him with open adoration when they fucked, lest she pop the bubble of his fantasy.

  “You make me feel big, when you look at me like that.”

  She kept her gaze on his cock as it disappeared again and again inside her hand and sex.

  Relief bloomed inside her as the haze of the orgasm lifted. She’d given him what he’d wanted, and he’d liked it as much as they’d hoped. She’d liked it, and here they were, still enough for each other, just the two of them. She released his cock to cup his jaw with both hands, staring right into his eyes.

  “Come for me, Mike.”

  “I’m close.”

  “Good. I want you to do what he can’t.” She meant come inside her, bare, as Mike well knew. It was much too soon to say whether their three-way chemistry might prove strong enough for Bern to join them regularly, and be allowed that ultimate trespass.

  “Turn over.” Mike’s impatient hands guided the actions as she got to her hands and knees.

  Jesus, she’d missed this. It had been Mike’s favorite position before the games had begun, perfect for a possessive man. He pulled her roughly into his thrusts, ownership resounding in every slap of skin and grunted male breath. In no time at all she could feel him losing control. The hammering of his hips forced her thighs wider, wider, until she lay flat on her belly, Mike sliding his hands beneath to cup her breasts, coming with a flurry of wild groans.

  Kisses punctuated the spaces between his panting breaths, peppering her shoulder blades and the nape of her neck. She nudged him and he turned over, closing her in his arms as they’d done hundreds of times before. She felt his cock softening at the small of her back, felt his heartbeat pulsing at her spine, felt his come breaching her lips to wet her thighs. She smiled.

  “Have I mentioned lately what an awesome wife you are?” he mumbled, sounding wasted.

  “Probably. But you’re always welcome to say it again.”

  He kissed her instead, a firm press of his lips to the crown of her head.

  Sam sighed and flexed her toes. “I’m so glad that went well.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I wonder if he liked it.”

  Mike’s soft laugh warmed her hair. “It sure looked like he enjoyed himself. Plus how could he not – he got to fuck around with you.”

  “You flatterer.” After a long pause she added, “I can’t believe vacation’s already half over. Though no one can say we haven’t been making the most of it.”

  “You know what I think?” Mike asked, shifting so she could twist around and face him.

  She kissed his chin. “What do you think, Detective Heyer?”

  “I think you should give him a call tomorrow. Or e-mail him. See if he’s free this Saturday night.”

  “I’d be awfully insulted if he had a better offer.”

  “Better than us? Impossible.”

  She grinned at his confident tone. “We’ll just have to find out. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  “You know what else I think?” he asked, voice turning low and seductive.

  “What’s that?”

  He kissed her nose. “I think we ought to order a pizza. I’m fucking starving.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  L

  ate Thursday morning, Bern felt his cell buzz in his pocket. A dozen times in a given workday he might feel a new call or text stir at his hip, but rarely before this week had he been one to drop what he was doing to check whose name was gracing his phone. He eased the heavy spool of cable looped over his shoulder to the ground.

  A little envelope winked at him from his screen. He opened it, pulse throbbing in his throat. A hopeful smile tried to hijack his lips as he saw Sam’s name at the top of the text, but he bit it back. No need for a coworker to bust him and ask what girl had clearly put such a shit-eating grin on his face.

  Hello again, he read. Thanks for meeting up last night. We both had a great time, and were wondering if you might be free to hang out again this Saturday, around eight? Let me know!

  He hit REPLY. Hello yourself. Saturday at eight sounds perfect. At the bar, or your place? Tell me if I should bring anything. Wine, condoms, camcorder, whatever.

  Her answer came only a minute later and he pursed his lips to quell another smile.

  Just your charming self. See you at our place at eight. E-mail if you need the directions.

  The rest of the day passed in a horny blur, with Bern distracted by what was likely to go down on Saturday. He had been wiped out this morning, and not merely from skipping dinner, fucking around with a stranger’s wife, getting to bed late, and starting the workday at seven. By the time he’d made it home, all the relief of his orgasm had faded to nothing, and he wound up lying awake, replaying everything and theorizing about what might come next until past midnight, abusing himself with the embarrassing, boundless enthusiasm of a teenager.

  Now he was… what? Fifty-eight hours from who-knew-what.

  If he got his way, who-knew-what would consist of enjoying Sam’s gorgeous body again, and getting spoiled not only by her attention and the theoretical attention of her unseen husband, but maybe an actual, live, visible audience. Better than any mirror, and much safer than some video beamed off into the ether. And though it had never occurred to Bern that he might enjoy fucking somebody else’s woman while the guy watched, lately it was all he could think about.

  Maybe he and Sam were alike in that respect – they’d gotten snagged by her husband’s kink like a snatch of catchy music, or a craving for a certain food once the aroma wafted past. Felt like he’d falle
n under its twisted spell, and now he’d never come out of it unless the wish got granted, the curiosity satisfied.

  Fifty-eight hours, he thought, hefting the cable back onto his shoulder. In fifty-eight hours all his borrowed fantasies might come true. Until then he’d be like a kid on Christmas Eve, dying of impatience, waiting to sprint down those steps and tear open his presents.

  This was going to be a long-ass end to the workweek.

  Sam barely touched her dinner on Saturday evening. She’d made chicken soup, and made it early so they’d have plenty of time to digest. Made it with less salt than usual so she wouldn’t feel bloated, picked it because it promised she wouldn’t wind up gassy or sleepy. Still, she spent much of the meal letting it spill from her spoon back into the bowl, barely half a serving making it past her lips. Mike’s hand crept across the breakfast bar to take hers. She thought he’d been watching the news playing behind her on the TV, but when she looked up, his face was full of concern.

  “You okay?”

  “I am. I’m nervous, but not bad nervous. Just all keyed up.” She pushed the bowl away. There were too many butterflies in her stomach, no room for soup.

  Mike left his side of the counter to rummage in the freezer. He shut the door and handed her an ice-cream sandwich. She had to smile at that. “Thanks.”

  “Gotta keep your strength up.”

  The ice cream tasted more right than the soup: decadent, in keeping with the evening. Chicken soup – what had she been thinking? Save the comfort food for the flu.

  In a couple of hours’ time she was going to sleep with a relative stranger while her husband watched. Why on earth was she letting herself get worked up over gas and a bit of water weight? She licked grooves into the sides of the sandwich, as she had as a kid, licked deep enough that the soft chocolate cookie sheets could be sealed together like a ravioli. Only then did she let herself bite in and enjoy both textures together.

  Mike did the dishes and stowed the leftovers, giving Sam the luxury of taking a long, thorough shower, scrubbing and shaving and exfoliating all her nooks and crannies. Each and every one was on Bern’s personal menu for the evening.

  She used the expensive lotion her mother had given her for her birthday… surely not with these preparations in mind. It smelled good, like vanilla and rum. Bern’s dessert, she thought as she plugged in her styling brush. She got her hair as shiny and perfect as she might for a wedding. Funny, when the only vows involved in tonight’s festivities were the ones she and Mike planned on desecrating.

  “Looking good.”

  She jumped at his voice, then rolled her eyes at herself for being so wound up. She stowed the brush and met his gaze in the mirror. “Thought I’d make an effort.”

  Mike came in and leaned on the counter as she did her makeup. “Can I get you a glass of something?”

  “Oh God, yeah. Please. Wine. A big one.”

  He laughed and disappeared, returning with her order. Sam took a gulp and finished up her mascara, plucked a stray brow. Mike followed as she went to the bedroom. He sat on the bed and watched as she got dressed – deep blue underwear, a casual, silvery gray dress with beading along the bust. She auditioned a few pieces of jewelry, settling on a black pearl necklace. Plus her wedding ring, of course, which she shined on her hem.

  “You go to all this trouble before our dates?” No true jealousy edged Mike’s tone, just a playful chiding.

  “Yes, I did. More, in fact – I was still into waxing back then.”

  He rose and stepped close to run his palms down her sides. “Damn, you look good.”

  She smiled at him, smoothing his T-shirt along his firm shoulders, stroking his arms. If he was a leg man, she was an arm girl.

  “What about you?” she asked. “You get yourself all gussied up special for me back when we were a-courtin’?”

  “Do extra reps in the gym count?”

  “Oh my, yes.” She squeezed his biceps, her favorite of all his fine features.

  “Then I did indeed.”

  “What time is it?”

  Mike checked his cell phone. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Hooo.” She shook out her hands and let loose a deep breath, willing the fearful excitement to stay at a manageable level. She shouldn’t be this worked up. After the last time, she knew Mike was truly into it, as was she. As was Bern. Still…

  “Jesus, I’m nervous.”

  “That’s good. Pretend you’re nervous about me coming home and catching you with him.”

  “I could.” She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I will.”

  Tonight, Mike would once again be hiding in a bathroom, this time the half bath in the downstairs hall. Once Bern arrived and things were getting hot and heavy, he’d sneak upstairs to the bedroom threshold and watch for a bit before asserting himself. Or before Sam pretended to spot him, caught in the act – whoever found the balls to break through the fourth wall first.

  They headed back to the living room and Mike poured himself a bourbon. Sam was tempted to drain her glass and have another, but chances were Bern would want a little something to get loose, and if she joined him, she’d be three sheets to the wind and probably trip trying to get her dress off. Or tip over and clock her head on the corner of the dresser, leaving Bern and Mike to suffer a very awkward introduction as they waited for the ambulance.

  At eight-oh-two, the bell rang.

  All the relaxation Sam had found in her wineglass fled like a frightened bird.

  Mike kissed her cheek. “See you soon.” He headed for the bathroom, leaving her shaking in her heels, ever the unprepared hostess. She walked to the front, pausing at the mirror in the hall, checking her teeth for wine blackening, hurrying on. What must Mike make of all her clomping from the closed bathroom?

  A knock at the door emptied her brain. She strode to answer it in a state of eerie calm. The door swung in, and there he was.

  Dear God.

  Had ever a man been made who looked this good in jeans and a work shirt, hair tousled, face unshaven? Flowers and a bottle of wine accompanied him.

  She smiled and accepted the tulips. “Hello. And thank you.”

  “Hello yourself.”

  Now get inside before a neighbor sees you wooing me.

  Bern did as her brain begged and she locked up behind him.

  “You look amazing.” He wasted no time, leaning down to kiss her, slow and seductive. Heat moved through her at the taste of his mouth, lust snaking low, hot and heady. After a wooze-inducing moment, she managed to pry herself away. She took the wine from him, body tugged in two clashing directions – arousal and anxiety. But she could feel the nerves easing. She’d underestimated this man’s ability to draw out her sensual, slinky side.

  “Would you like a glass?” she asked, holding up the wine.

  “Sure.” He followed her to the kitchen and gestured for the bottle. “Let me.”

  She found him the corkscrew and two glasses, busying herself with arranging the flowers in a vase. She stage-whispered, “He’s in the first-floor bathroom.”

  Bern nodded and slid her glass across the counter, leaning in on his elbows. “So. When’s he due home?”

  Game on. “Not for a couple of hours.”

  Looking smug, he toasted the notion with a clink of his glass against hers.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been brought flowers.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  And a lie. Mike had sent her roses at work not even two weeks ago to celebrate a small promotion she’d earned. Man, had he ever gotten laid that night.

  “It’s been ages since he’s given me a lot of things.” She looked straight into Bern’s eyes and sipped her wine.

  “Maybe I can make up for some of those shortcomings tonight.”

  “Maybe.” She gave him a wicked grin, anxiety gone. She wished he were wearing a necktie so she could draw him across the counter and kiss him. Not that Mike could see. Studying Bern’s shoulders and chest through his T-shir
t, a wave of gratitude swept over Sam, leaving her momentarily misty. She got to have sex with this man. Some husbands might spoil their wives with a trip to the spa, but she got to indulge herself with another man’s body. A gorgeous body. A more enticing, decadent weekend getaway she couldn’t imagine.