Chris got his share of rejection from women every now and again, but he could win most of them over if not with his looks, then his charm. He was six feet two, two hundred and five pounds, had a lean muscular build. He could double for Channing Tatum any given day, and he had a smooth swagger to go with his sex appeal. I’d met a lot of guys in my day that had the look, but no game. A lot of guys couldn’t hold a conversation for shit and they wondered why some of the girls they hooked up with weren’t calling them back. Looks weren’t everything. The fact that you had a job or made a lot of money wasn’t all of it either. I was bringing home more money than Chris to be honest. In spite of the fact that a lot of my money was going towards legal fees as of late, I was still living cushy; even if I didn’t get a dime from my divorce settlement, whenever it was finally (and mercifully) settled, I would be more than alright. Women were doing their thing now when it came to the career game and when it came to the bedroom. We were telling men what we wanted and how we wanted it, not just taking it however they decided to give it. Men either had to step their game up to match ours, or settle with coming up short and ending up falling back.
I was watching the two of them together, little miss honey blond hair and caramel colored skin was smiling a pearly white smile. She took care of her teeth. Good sign. Great sign. Chris knew the deal, and if he couldn’t remember all of my hang-ups, he had his own standards. Bad breath was a definite no-no. He knew to walk away from that and never look back. Also, no one with too much perfume; that was just as much of a bad sign as a girl with BO. Check for dandruff, and an over flush of stretch marks. The last thing we needed was some crazy baby daddy beating down our door looking for his wayward baby mama. You always took chances bringing home a stranger. It was exciting and scary. There were so many things to check for, so many things that could go wrong, but then there were so many others that could go right.
Chris was still talking to her. She was swaying to the beat as if there was a part of her that couldn’t help but respond to the rhythm with her own rhythm. I was liking her already.
She looked over at me; I’d already had my gaze locked on them, so our eyes met. Held. She gave way to a bashful smile. Kept some of her attention on me even as she turned toward Chris again.
She lifted up her hand, gave me a tiny little wave. Cute, girly, sexy. So many bad thoughts were running through my mind along with so many other thoughts that were anticipating good things, pleasurable things, things that I’d been looking forward to all night. I had needs that extended far beyond what I’d gotten in the parking garage. I wanted more than an orgasm, I wanted a show. I wanted to be entertained. I wanted to feast on what I’d been craving for a while and had been deprived of.
I wanted to taste the girl with the caramel complexion to see if she was really as sweet as she looked.
They both started smiling, looked my way. Chris motioned for me to come over. Little Miss Honey-and-Caramel was still standing by his side.
We were in. She was ours. I had a feeling this was going to be a night to remember.
***
Chris and I have our standards, but we also have our rules--two sets of them--really, that we strictly abide by. Doing what we’re doing requires taking precautions or you will end up wishing you had in the long run.
The closer I got to Chris and who I was hoping was going to be our new little plaything, the more I was playing over our secondary set of rules in my head, trying to choose which tactics I was going to use on the little Caramel bombshell.
I made my way up to the two of them and stood close enough to Caramel to get a better look at her. I’d expected her to smell like vanilla and sugar, like some kind of dessert fragrance associated with toppings of whipped cream, frosting, and sprinkles, but what I got instead was a whiff of citrus commingling with the light aroma of sweet flowers. It was a fragrance that suited her, and she hadn’t piled it on either, which made you want to go in closer, put your face to her neck, inhale and feel the heat rising from her skin along with her perfume.
“Leila,” Chris said to me. “This is Candice. Candice, this is my girl, Leila.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said to me, leaning in close to my ear so she wouldn’t have to scream, but also so I could hear her clearly enough.
She still had her drink in her hand. We were in limbo. She still needed a little nudge in our direction.
It was difficult being seductive in a club atmosphere most of the time. You have to scream your conversation, and words that would normally come out smooth with the ability to put the person you’re pursuing in a particularly willing state of mind had a tendency to come out clumsy or come across corny. You ran that risk trying to pick up someone in a place like Oasis, but that was some of the challenge that it made it all fun.
I decided not to beat around the bush and see where she stood in regards to what we were throwing out at her.
I leaned in closer than necessary, let my lips graze her ear, but not in a way that could come across as perverted. A lot of women were under the mistaken impression that they could approach another woman any way they felt, any way they chose to in a sexual manner, and no one would consider them a perv just because they were both women. That was a widely misconstrued thought on behalf of the women who thought they could do whatever they wanted when they wanted to anyone they wanted. I’ve seen just as many women get drinks splashed in their faces by other women as I’ve seen it happen to men, probably more.
“We have a place on the other side of town,” I said, not touching any other part of her body, just letting my lips move against her ear, letting the exhale of my breath graze over her heated skin, cooling it, as I got a better whiff of her perfume that I was beginning to like more the more I inhaled it. “If you want, you can come and check it out. Did you come with friends?”
We changed positions, she was talking to me now, her exhale was fruit and alcohol scented, a combination that made me want to taste it. I had to concentrate on what she was saying to me.
“I did, but I don’t need a babysitter,” she told me matter-of-factly rather than with any attitude. If she had any hint of a bad attitude it would’ve been a wrap. Our little powwow would’ve been over before it even started. Just another one of our rules. “Where’s this place you’re talking about across town?”
I told her the name of the building where the condo was located. Her eyes widened enough to let me know that she knew where it was, and she was impressed, but trying not to show it.
“Heard of it?” I asked her, a wicked smile curling my lips as I raised an eyebrow at her.
“I have,” she nodded.
“Are you coming for a tour of the place, or not?” I asked her.
She nodded again. Tentatively, but definitely consenting.
I looked at Chris whose gaze had never left us.
We had her. I could tell. He could tell. She was ours.
***
Chris hangs back, walking a few paces behind the two of us as I lead the way to the parking lot, my hand alternating being on Candice’s lower back and then on her arm as I keep her near me as if we’re two platonic female friends after a night in a club and nothing more; though you never really knew what people are thinking about you unless you ask them directly and tell them to give you a straight answer.
Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder what people saw when they spied myself and Chris heading out the door with some beautiful girl. I wonder if they know what we were heading off to do, if it was written all over our faces, our body language, or if we’re giving off a vibe and they could feel the sexual energy coming off us in waves.
A lot of people want to try some of the things we do, but they either don’t have the nerve, or their moral compass still points a certain way, but if they think for a second that what we end up doing comes from a simple meet and greet in a club, they’re sadly mistaken. What we do comes from an intricately designed plan constructed by myself and Chris to ensure us the maximum amount of pleas
ure with the minimal amount of pain. Pain, in this case, meaning drama. That’s the last thing either of us need.
We’re in the Beemer tonight. A sleek black sedan with custom black and red leather interior that is neither mine nor Chris’s, but is one of Scott’s five cars that we’ll leave under the parking garage at the condo we’re heading to where neither Chris nor I actually live.
If any of the girls that we’ve ever taken back to the condo try and hunt us down, they’ll end up hunting ghosts. About the only things we don’t bother to fake are our first names and our orgasms. Using fake names can get tricky, and if you’re busted, the situation can look seedier than it really is. Never last names. Too personal. Dangerous territory.
When we make it to the car I lean up against it lazily as I wait for Chris and she follows my lead. My left arm is against the warm exterior and it’s her right arm that is against it as we face each other.
As I start the conversation.
“Do you normally leave clubs with strangers?”
“Never,” she says the word playfully, a little smile on her face. “And I’m not now, either. We’re acquainted. Leila. Chris. Candice. Not strangers, we have one another’s names.”
I like her. A lot. “What are your friends going to think?”
“That they were in my shoes,” she tells me, coming closer to me. “That a gorgeous guy approached me in Oasis and then a gorgeous girl, and I left with them. They’re going to wonder what I had that they didn’t.”
Good answer. Her voice had dipped seductively. She had a cherubic face, flawless skin that I could tell was smooth even underneath the thin layer of makeup she had on. Smooth skin. Skin I wanted to touch. Caress.
Chris finally showed up with the keys.
I was already felt like I wanted to jump on her right here and now.
But that wasn’t how this thing worked.
Patience.
Respect for the rules. Respect for the levels of seduction.
Candice got in first, slipped over across the seat so I would have room. Chris was driving, Candice and I were in the backseat. Together. Alone.
Chris turned the sound system on. Willie Hutch came on, his voice crooning out the words to his classic “I Choose You”. The two of us had debated about using that song on the ride back to the condo, but he’d won out. I thought it could possibly come across as a corny cliché or somehow offensive depending on who the girl was, but he always kept it at a low enough volume where it just came off as the music of foreplay.
Candice and I had started out on opposite ends of the backseat but before Chris had even backed out of the space we’d been parked we were close enough to touch.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I was on fire. She was hot. I didn’t mind a little heat.
I leaned over, put my hand against her cheek as our lips connected and my tongue parted her lips, invading her mouth, my tongue connecting with her tongue.
She tasted like strawberries. My senses tingled with her essences: citrus, the aroma of flowers, strawberries. All of those fragrances heated by her heat as her heat felt as if it were becoming my own.
I sucked her tongue. Licked the inside of her mouth. Pulled her closer to me as I took my mouth away from hers and moved my kisses down her neck to her collarbone, licked those areas using just the tip of my tongue so I could tickle her, then I sucked her neck, tongued those spots the same way I’d just tongued her mouth. She moaned. Let out a series of tiny little moans that were driving me crazy. She was powerfully responsive to my touch, to my kisses, and we hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.
She was driving me crazy, but I had to remind myself that I was the one in control. I seemed to be driving her crazy, but it was contagious.
I haven’t felt this way in a long time. The way I was feeling, it felt like I had never felt this way. That was good and bad. I couldn’t be sure where this was all headed. I’m not sure I care.
Chris peers back every now and then, his mouth watering. He’s usually unfazed by what’s going on in the backseat, and I can’t help but wonder what’s happening to us. What is this girl doing to us?
My tongue has found its way back over to her ear, the same ear I whispered in back at the club. This time I don’t hesitate to close my lips around the lobe, the tiny sliver of skin that isn’t blocked with an earring. She exhales against me. I’m so wet I could drown Chris’s dick with my juices right now.
I move my kisses back across her neck, up to her face, and then my mouth is on hers again. I taste her as she tastes me. I close my eyes and she becomes the aggressor, and I let her be.
The songs have changed. Minutes have passed. 2 Pistols rap and sing over the track “She Got It” and we kiss like mad, kiss like crazy, kiss like we’re the first and last people to kiss on earth.
She’s wearing a white top outlined in orange. Thin spaghetti straps that have slid down her shoulders.
Her nipples are hard underneath the fabric.
I want to taste them.
I take the straps down from her shoulders, fold the top down that’s covering those mounds of joy, but she’s double strapped, wearing a strapless bra. A good one. La Perla. It’s supportive, but damn near sheer, the same shade of orange as the outline of her top, only the bra’s color was an all-over solid. I reach around to her back and unsnap that apparatus, freeing those beauties that have to be full D cups, minimum.
Those nipples. Beautiful. A pretty shade of brown only not as quite as dark as mine. They look perfectly scrumptious. They were peaked. I covered the right one with my mouth as if it were my favorite flavor of Popsicle. Sucked it. Sucked her. Had her writhing underneath me, rubbing my back, my head, my neck, as she sung my praises. I went to the left one as she continued to act out and act up. I loved her reaction, loving the way she tasted, loving the feel of those nice heavy tits in my mouth.
I couldn’t take it. Took them in my mouth both at the same time. Worked my tongue in swirls, gave them suction so that when I pulled my lips off them it made a popping sound. They were wet with my saliva; now they tasted like both me and her. She was running her fingers through my hair, driving me crazy, further down the lane of insanity. The good kind of insanity. The kind of insanity I welcomed with an open mouth, open mind, and spread thighs.
I came up for air. Looked into her face. Looked at the way she wanted it. She wanted more than I was giving.
I reached down, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. As I did it she stroked me with her hands. I could feel her watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do next.
Crisp white thong with the same orange outline as her top. Matching head to toe. She’d done a nice contrast using the pink base for her makeup and the orange with her outfit and underwear. Didn’t want to overdo it.
I took her jeans off, threw them down on the floor, but I took my time taking off that tiny sliver of fabric separating me from her sex. Took my time kissing her stomach, around her belly button ring as I eased that material off of her. Let my kisses go lower, but stopped them just before my lips reached that sweetness.
Ginuwine’s voice rang out from the speakers. His song telling us that it was not his girl’s girls’ business what they were doing.
I got the thong all the way off. Moved my face back up to hers, gave her a kiss on the lips as our eyes met, her sugar-coated brown eyes staring back at my hazel eyes letting me know that this teasing was driving her up a wall.
Touché.
But I couldn’t show it. Had to pretend that what I was feeling was control and calm, that controlled calm that I usually had in this situation, but it had somehow abandoned me this time. But pretending was my job, or at least a part of it. Chris and I were playing characters. We were used to playing certain roles. I just had to remind myself of that and I knew everything would be alright.
I moved back down, got a good look at those luscious breasts before feasting on them again. I went at them with more ferocity. Had her begging me not to stop going at them.
I had no intention to.
I moved my hand down. Didn’t slow my roll with my mouth, but moved my left hand down between her thighs and into that area where I felt the heat before even touching it. I moved her legs apart a little more. Not shaved, not Naired, but either she’d had her kitty cat waxed or she’d had laser hair removal done. I let my fingers glide over her slit, felt all of the moisture that had accumulated from that tiny little hole between her legs. Felt her arousal on my fingers, then my hand as I rubbed that sweet spot. I felt a shudder go through her. Felt her body tremble like she had a chill as she kept whispering the word please please please please please please over and over and over again.
Ain’t none of your friends’ business Ain’t none of your friends’ business how we get down tonight…
Ginuwine’s singing mixed with her pleading.
I was willing to oblige her.
I slid my index finger inside her. She gasped as if I’d just put a dick or a dildo inside her. She held onto my shoulders as if I’d already started fucking her.
Tight. She was so tight. Felt her walls undulating with the grip they had around my forefinger. I eased that finger in and out. Her face held the look of anguish, but I knew what that kind of anguish meant. No way I was going to stop, and there was no doubt that she didn’t want me to.
I put my middle finger in alongside the index. Stretched that little hole some more. Felt those walls enclose around my two fingers, felt them moving to the beat of their own drummer.
So wet. So tight. Tighter than any of the girls we’d been with. I wondered how long our little minx had been active. Couldn’t have been long. She was so fucking tight.
Chris was definitely going to enjoy this.
I pushed those two fingers inside her deeper. She moaned, groaned, sounded like she was near crying, but it was the kind of cry that I didn’t mind hearing, that I knew meant that what she was feeling was almost too good. Went in deeper and felt that little suction she had. Felt the layout of her honey pot. Felt that wondrous soft wet tight little cave that straight men craved to fuck, craved to slam until they came, craved to bury their shafts in until they blew their loads. Inside her.
Decadence Page 3
