Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (21 page)

H
ow many nights had Mica lain awake, fantasizing about this moment? Hundreds, easily. In dozens of different ways, he’d imagined the two of them edging their way to this precipice, though none of those scenarios had ever looked quite like this.

No desert surrounding them, only the four walls of this room. No warm smell of earth, but the sheets and the mismatched scents of three bodies.

But some things were exactly as they should be. The strength of the body pressed to Mica’s, the roughness of those hands, and most of all, the look on Vaughn’s face. Edgy and wild, curious and scared and mean and awed. He was angry. He was pissed, probably because Mica had forgotten his plans with Clare, fudged an excuse, broken those tiresome rules Vaughn kept in his head about how men were supposed to treat women, passed down by his dad. His anger didn’t bother Mica. Hell, Vaughn had been angry at least half the times they’d fucked around. Anger was Kryptonite to a calm man, got him all flustered, wrecked his resolve. Mica liked him angry, in fact. Liked having that power, and liked feeling that aggression aimed his way.

Vaughn’s weight was everything Mica had ever dreamed of, his stroking body full of fury and hunger, punishing and sensual. Perfect.

All at once those powerful hips shifted, drawing Vaughn’s bare cock back, angling it lower until it dragged against Mica’s shorts, head edging between his cheeks, tugging and pressing against the cotton. Mica groaned, upended.

Vaughn rose up, clasping Mica by the hips. His words were a harsh growl of a sound. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A decade, easy.”

“We can never undo what comes next.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Mica had ached for it for too long, too badly to leave any room for regret. He’d never gotten hung up on anyone the way he’d been on Vaughn. He’d never cared about anyone else enough to make the feeling possible. And he’d driven this man to so many acts beyond his comfort zone, he longed for the conflict he’d feel in his friend’s body when they finally took things as far as they could go.

No, he’d never want to undo what came next. Vaughn might, however. And Mica was selfish enough that the knowledge stood no chance at stopping him.

Those strong hands were moving—grasping, tugging, turning him over. Mica fisted the covers and planted his knees, arched his back. He didn’t have to tell Vaughn to get a condom, to take it slow. Even pissed off and feral, the man would be careful, respectful. Mica trusted that much, and trust was in short supply in his world.

He didn’t look at Clare as he waited, listening to the tiny sounds of his dresser drawer opening, of a condom wrapper being stripped, the snap of the lube bottle’s cap and the squirt of cool gel. He stared straight ahead at the half-open blinds, and the mirror made by the window beyond their slats. He watched Vaughn’s shoulders and arms moving in that reflection as he grabbed Mica’s waistband, slid
his shorts down. Mica held his breath, light-headed with want. Then slick fingers were on his ass, spreading him. Stroking him, wetting him. The sensation shot through his body, setting his cock throbbing and his arms trembling. He could just make out Vaughn’s face in the dark glass, his expression stern and stony, perhaps determined. Finally, Mica looked to Clare, needing to see what this was doing to her. Her lips were parted, attention on Vaughn’s hand. She was about to witness the thing Mica had been wishing for for ten years or more.

And she deserves it, too.
He wasn’t sure they’d ever have found themselves here if not for her. Everyone in this room, on this bed, was about to go somewhere new, and she’d made it all possible.

Next came the pressure. Vaughn’s thumb, he thought, blunt and warm, slick with the lube. Mica’s breath caught but he let it out slow, willing his body to relax, to welcome this. Never had he wanted anything so badly, and never had he trusted a man as he did this one.

“Nice and slow,” he coached, and Vaughn gave him that. Once he’d adjusted he told him, “Hold still.”

Vaughn paused with his thumb seated deeply, his fingers fanned across Mica’s cheek. Mica took control, easing away, then back again. He was no good at passivity, and no better way to show Vaughn what he could handle than to give it to himself. He dropped his head and got lost in the sensations—tension to start, then something richer, finally ripening to true pleasure.

“More lube,” he said, and raised his head to watch in the window. The bottle snapped and clicked, and he told Vaughn, “Use your fingers.”

He did. Two, and they felt so much thicker than before, the touch so much deeper.
Nothing compared to his cock.
Nowhere close, but he knew better than to rush.

“Ready?” came Vaughn’s voice.

“One more.” First, the cool addition of more lube, then the third finger. “Fuck.” Mica waited until the penetration grew smooth, his body receptive, then owned the motions with his hips. He was itchy for it now. Wanted these hands on his waist, and the cock he’d only before felt in his fist and his mouth buried deep inside his body, taking that darkest pleasure.

“Now,” he said, the word tight and nearly lost in his panting breaths. “Fuck me.”

The fingers left him, replaced in a breath by the smooth intimidation of Vaughn’s head. Fuck, he was big. Far bigger than three fingers could ever hope to impersonate. Mica fisted the covers even as he forced his body to soften, held his breath and turned himself over to this moment he’d fantasized about countless times.

The pressure arrived and built, slow but no less intimidating for all of Vaughn’s caution. Mica groaned and sucked a breath, and Vaughn froze, waited. Once his body had adjusted, Mica said, “More.”

So it continued, inch by inch and minute by minute, with pauses for more lube. The penetration was at times harsh, at times exquisite, but through it all, the most erotic force working Mica’s body was the warm palm on his lower back, those rough, splayed fingers and the pressure Vaughn offered. That touch danced on the edge of too much for Mica, flirting with that sensation he hated above all others—restraint—but never quite going there. Again, it was trust. The most unexpected of aphrodisiacs.

Though his cock wasn’t hard, his entire body was tingling, heat chasing up his back, and of course that delicious, taboo fullness as Vaughn sank deeper, deeper. At long last Mica felt the bump of the man’s hips against his ass, and he knew they’d done it. Gone there, as far as two bodies could go together. He dropped his head, groaned against his fist. “Fuck.”

Vaughn went still at once.

“Don’t,” Mica said. “Keep going. Fuck me.”

“Tell me how.” It wasn’t any sort of cocky order; the man really did need instruction, feedback. It was a strange experience for Mica, whose encounters with men tended to be fast and rough and largely anonymous. There was little room for courtesy in this act, the way he’d always come by it. It only figured Vaughn would prove himself an exception in this way, too.

“Slow to start,” Mica told him. “Just give what my body asks you for.” That wouldn’t make much sense yet, but it would soon.

Vaughn eased out, drove deep again slowly. Again. Mica shut his eyes and felt every second of it, memorized it. This might happen again tomorrow, or not ever for the rest of his life. He’d savor every second in case it was to be the latter.

Something’s missing.
Some
one
was missing, he realized. He opened his eyes and looked to Clare, the person who’d made all this possible. She was sitting on her hip, leaning on one arm, watching. Mica could push this even further, make it dirtier—eat her pussy while Vaughn was fucking him, perhaps—but he held back. He couldn’t risk the distraction, couldn’t risk diluting a moment of this by splitting his attention. But he held her gaze, wondering what those photographer’s eyes were capturing. What his face must look like, what shadows their two bodies were casting. Whatever she saw, it excited her.
Thank you,
he wanted to tell her, but the words stuck in his throat, the earnestness of the gesture too much to bare on top of everything else going on in this room.

He felt his dick growing heavy and hard, his body adjusting to what Vaughn gave enough to allow his own arousal. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Vaughn didn’t reply, no surprise. He’d been all but silent the
times Mica had gone down on him, save for moans and grunts, the odd
yeah
or
fuck.

“Tell me how it feels,” Mica demanded, arching his back, leading the motions.

“Good.”

“Tell me more.” He’d press; he wasn’t afraid of pushing Vaughn’s buttons, of pissing him off. The aggression had brought them together tonight. He welcomed that edge.

“You’re tight,” Vaughn said, his voice shallow. He matched his pace to the demands of Mica’s hips.

“This what you always thought it’d feel like?”

“I never let myself imagine it.”

“Liar.”

A pause, both in Vaughn’s words and his motions, then, “I’m not half as drunk as I always assumed I would be.”

Finally, a sliver of a confession.
Assumed,
he’d said. Assumed, like he’d always known they’d wind up here, always wished it. In that moment Mica knew what he wanted next, what he needed.

“Pull out,” he told Vaughn. A bone-deep shiver ran through him as that intrusion eased, disappeared, and he reveled in it for two breaths, maybe three. Then he turned over.

Vaughn’s gaze flickered but didn’t flee, and when Mica brought his knees high and spread his thighs, Vaughn dropped to all fours. Their cocks brushed, Vaughn’s slick and sheathed, Mica’s bare. He imagined Vaughn’s hand on him as his friend slid back in, deep and slow, envisioned his face as he came. As he beat Mica to it, more excited by this than he’d ever have let himself imagine he might get, surely—

“You should touch him,” Vaughn said to Clare.
You should be a part of this,
he said without words. Once he was seated fully he leaned
back, holding Mica’s knees for balance, welcoming Clare to join them. She lay on her side facing Mica, smiling shyly. He pulled her in for a brief kiss, then led her hand down his body to clasp his cock. A soft, slender hand, such a contrast to those gripping his knees. Her expression was warm with wonder, Vaughn’s stony and intense.

“Keep it light,” Mica told her as she began to pump him. Much more than a grazing and he’d come far too quickly. “What about you?” he asked her. “You imagined this?”

“I think you know I have . . . What’s he feel like?”

Mica looked to Vaughn, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. “Fucking big.”

She smiled. “Don’t I know it.”

Vaughn had sped up and Mica gritted his teeth, turned his body over to the man’s demands. A thousand times he’d fantasized about getting used by his friend, just this way.

“Like that.” He held Vaughn’s neck tight, studied that face he knew like no other.
We’re never, ever going to kiss,
he realized then. But he’d always have this. This was real, this was now. This would live in his memories until the day he died.

When you love somebody, it’s different. You ought to try it sometime.

And Mica supposed that in a way, now he had. And yeah, it did feel different. Maybe even different enough to have him running, before long. But only time would decide that.

He let the pleasure drown out the scarier thoughts. Clare was still working his dick, her touch light and teasing, a delicious contradiction to the punishment of Vaughn.

Whenever he’d fantasized about this, he came just after Vaughn did, pushed over the edge as he watched wonder and relief transform his friend’s face. But this was reality, and he doubted he’d last that long. The look in his best friend’s eyes was thrilling enough—a mean
glint with lust shining behind it. Hottest of all, Vaughn didn’t look away. He held Mica’s stare, barely blinking. No fear now, and his lips were parted, breaths labored. His body was everything raw and rough and male that attracted Mica to men, muscles taut and flexing. That cock was speaking to Mica with every thrust, it seemed.
This what you wanted? This what you’ve been after? Then take it. Take it until it hurts, then beg me for more.

Mica moaned, control slipping. “Fuck. Don’t stop.” He said it to both of them, gaze jumping from Vaughn to Clare and back. He was shaking, and the hand on Vaughn’s neck was damp with sweat. His orgasm was in their hands. All he could do was hold on and let it take him.

The caution was gone from Vaughn’s body. He was fucking Mica with hard, tight thrusts, his arms locked and the fingers gripping, Mica’s knees cruelly. His cock glinted in the light of the Christmas bulbs each time he withdrew, every glimpse triggering a shock of excitement, edging the orgasm closer, closer, until the ache of it was nearly unbearable. Mica’s voice became a string of low, homely, animal groans sounding in time to those merciless strokes, until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grasped Clare’s hand with his, squeezed it tight, and hammered himself home, never taking his eyes off Vaughn’s face until the pleasure peaked, release basting his own belly in hot lashes.

As the sensation crested and ebbed, he found his hand trembling around Clare’s, his legs shaking, his lungs pumping a mile a minute. Vaughn slid free, and his absence brought no relief, only more need. This fantasy wasn’t complete until Vaughn came, too, and if he shut it down now—