Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (5 page)

“Who’s your daddy now?” he smiled.

Brooklyn laughed.

A
lex got
up from the floor, still covered in the intoxicating smell and taste of her. He took her hand and, without a word, led her over to the bed. He’d done his part to get her ready, now he wanted his own satisfaction. His dick had been hard from the moment he’d had that first taste of her.

He watched her watching him as he took off his shirt. He felt a momentary flicker of pride as a sparkle of admiration came to her eyes looking at his naked torso. His nights may have been spent in various bars and night clubs, but his days were spent staying in shape. Image was still important in his profession, which he took very seriously, even if others didn’t.

“Go on” she said with a smile, rolling her finger in a circle, encouraging him to continue undressing. He was more than happy to comply—having exactly zero issues with his body.

He stood on one leg, clumsily pulling off one Converse shoe without bothering to untie it, then doing the same with the other foot.

He paused before getting to his jeans, enjoying the momentary bit of upper hand he had as she stood there naked and waiting. Eventually catching on, she put her hands on her curvy little hips, hitching them to one side. This did nothing to abate the boner that was also eagerly anticipating the removal of his pants. He grinned and undid his fly, pushing his jeans down his legs, taking the boxers down with them. His dick sprang out with ravenous anticipation.

Brooklyn cocked her head to the side, examining what he had to offer. He took on his best Superman impression, chest out, fists on hips, legs spread, eight inches of cock standing proudly at attention.

“Not too bad,” she declared. “But do you actually know how to use that thing?”

“Bend over and I’ll show you,” he said right back to her with a grin.

Her cocked head came right back up with indignation. “Well, you certainly know how to turn a girl on.”

“I’m not joking,” he said strutting over to her, his erection leading the way. “Remember, I’m in charge tonight.”

“Is that a fact?” she laughed.

“Are you gonna do what I say, woman?” he growled. “Or am I going to have to make you?”

“Okay,” she said giving him an indulgent smile. She leaned over and placed both palms on the edge of the bed, sticking her full, round ass up in the air. The image was more enticing than he expected, and boy was his dick letting him know.

That’s when he noticed the tattoo running down her back. “What have we here?” he asked, moving closer to inspect the line of foreign characters running all the way down her back to her ass.

It took her a moment to figure out what he was referring to. She laughed. “No,” she said, firmly.

“Please tell me it’s not YOLO in…
Sanskrit?
” he asked, trying to figure out the characters.

“Very good,” she said, impressed at his grasp of the characters. Then she quickly added, “about the language, not the words.”

“What could possibly be worse than YOLO?”

“I was nineteen when I got it,” she said, as if that answered his question.

“Come on,” he pleaded.

“No.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he added.

She laughed. “No.”

“I’ll tell you what mine means.”

She turned her head to look at the tattoo covering his shoulder and arm. “It’s your basic frat boy, tribal tattoo! You probably got it just to look cool,” she laughed.

“Exactly,” he pointed out with a laugh. “Now what could be more embarrassing than that?”

She laughed. “Okay, it says ‘Art is my life, My life is Art.’”

“That’s beautiful,” he responded. “At least you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Well I hope you’re happy,” she said. “Now are we going to stand here talking tattoos all night. I’m kind of primed and ready here,” she said, wiggling her ass and giving him a teasing smirk.

“Almost,” he mused. “Spread your legs.”

She kept her impish smile turned toward him as she spread her legs, revealing everything to him. Even with the minimal light from outside, he could see how turned on she was, as it reflected off the slick folds of her pussy.

He stood there watching, letting her succumb to her vulnerable and fully exposed state. Alex walked over and cupped one hand over the middle, his palm resting against the line between her ass. He slid his middle finger into the slit, letting it glide easily along the inner lips down to circle her clitoris and back up to penetrate the warm wet embrace in the middle.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered as she moaned underneath his touch.

“Don’t,” she moaned softly, her back curving upward. He saw her thighs shake beneath his caress.

He would have continued on, just to tease her, but his own body was telling him it was either now or never. He reached down into the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out his wallet where he kept a condom. He opened it and rapidly unrolled it over his length, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

As he guided the thick head along her dripping slit, he desperately wished he could feel that wet heat skin-to-skin. That would have been pushing it for tonight. One day, maybe.

As if guided by some internal signal on her part, his head found its way to the Promised Land all on its own. Alex grabbed the flesh of her hips and gripped hard as he thrust his own hips forward, penetrating her with a loud grunt. They both groaned as he popped through. Despite her continually flowing juices he had to ease his way in, feeling the pressure as her inner walls offered their own resistance. It was enough to almost make him come before he even reached the hilt. Still, he held back, embracing the feel of her wrapped around his cock.

“Jesus, Brooklyn,” he murmured, “You’re so fucking tight.”

He went as far as her body would allow and stayed there, cementing the feeling to memory before pulling back out. He pushed back in slowly, once again straining to hold back as her soft insides pressed against his shaft. The swell of a climax built up inside of him as he pumped back out and in again, going faster and faster.

Despite his fierce grip on her hips, Brooklyn did her part, pushing back against him as she bucked her hips along to his rhythm. He could hear her heavy breathing as his monster stimulated her innermost sensitive spots. Breathing turned to mewls, then moans as the pressure increased.

“Alex, Alex, Alex,” she repeated with a mantra-like chant.

The air was thick with the sound of his balls slapping against her wet thighs and clitoris. Pretty soon his own thighs were dripping with the evidence of her pleasure. The scent of their animalistic fucking penetrated the room and only increased his need for release. He focused hard, working with strained concentration as he tilted his body so that his head stroked just the right spot inside of her.

“Uhnnn,”
she moaned in response.

He felt her body get tense under the fingers that dug into her hips. He continued pressing his cockhead into her G-spot until the tension reached her core. The walls of her pussy grabbed his dick like a warm wet fist, squeezing with pulsating vibrations as she screamed out her orgasm beneath him. As the last shuddering echoes rippled through her body, Alex gave his own body permission to release the dam.

He slammed hard into her one final time, groaning with satisfaction. He stayed inside of her until his balls were completely empty and his dick could no longer maintain its erection.

He let go of her hips and she immediately collapsed on the bed, exhausted. He fell down next to her, breathing in time with her. They were both covered in a sheen of sweat and the smell of sex.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That was…
impressive
.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

She laughed and he joined her.

“So, is the part where you call me a taxi?” she asked after a minute.

Alex’s forehead creased in annoyance. “Is that what you really think of me?”

She shrugged next to him. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Well, I have a better idea,” he suggested. “Let’s take a shower.”

He saw her look down at her their bodies and nod. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

* * *

T
he shower was
big enough for both of them, but they were both too spent to do anything more than wash each other’s bodies. It was soothing and sensual and a much needed relief from the earlier activity. The steam was refreshing and Brooklyn was enjoying the feel of Alex’s soapy hands massaging her body.

This was obviously a one-night stand. He’d pretty much said as much when he indicated that she could go back to Michael—who wasn’t technically “hers”—on Monday. Despite that, this had probably been the most enjoyable night of sex she’d ever had in her young life. She figured she might as well savor it while it lasted.

“I have an idea,” Alex said above the noise of the shower. “Do you trust me?” he asked loudly in her ear. She looked up at him with a guarded smile, but nodded all the same. Her eyes flew open in surprise as he got on his knees in the shower. She didn’t think she could take another round of
that
. Her body was still recovering from the few hours before.

He reached up to the shelf where he had various toiletries and he grabbed a can of shaving cream and a razor. He removed the disposable head and grabbed a new one.

She laughed when she realized what he was up to.

“Close your eyes,” he shouted.

“What?!” she responded with alarm.

“Trust me,” he grinned. Her body was blocking most of the brunt of the shower water, but he still looked ridiculous with water dripping down his flattened hair.

She shook her head with a suspicious smile, but closed her eyes all the same. She leaned back as he mimicked his maneuverings from earlier that night, hooking one arm under her knee and placing it over his shoulder. She sighed as she felt the thick foam of shaving cream cover her pubic area. She stood still, one hand on his free shoulder for balance as she dutifully kept her eyes closed while he went to work. It was an odd feeling, his hands tugging and pulling her mons and lips until she felt the tell-tale sign of completely unobstructed skin hitting the steamy air. He was working some kind of design into her triangle up top.

“Okay,” he said finally. “You can look.”

She opened her eyes with eager curiosity and looked down to see his creation.

“What the fuck?!”
she laughed.

“
W
hat
, the fuck!?”

London Jefferson needed a moment. It was only fair. Just one, tiny, minuscule amount of time to register the fact that ten years of her life had just been flushed down the toilet. Ten years.
Ten fucking years!

“Now just stay calm, London.”

She looked over at Clayton across the table from her with pure, unadulterated,
seething
hatred in her eyes. Stay calm?
Stay calm?
He had a lot of nerve.

“I know this is a shock, but—”

“Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just…
shut up.”

He had the good sense to do just that.

She could feel her breath coming in faster. Dear god, she was going to hyperventilate. It was bad enough she had just been dumped. The cherry on top of this little sundae would be having a panic attack in one of New York’s finest restaurants, in front of everyone.

She had been sure that this was the night, the night that they sealed the deal,
finally
. Everyone had been sure: her friends, her family, even the staff at the firm.

Clayton and she had been together since undergrad. They were the typical Spelhouse (Spelman-Morehouse) duo. They’d even gone to Howard University for law school together. When all her friends—
their
friends—had jumped the broom, she just assumed it was only a matter of time before it was her turn—
their
turn.

Then, their friends all started having babies…and wondered. They bought houses in the suburbs and outer boroughs…and wondered. They did playdates and planned birthday parties… and wondered.

Then, out of the blue, Clayton had invited her to
Per Se
and she just knew—
everyone
just knew. In fact, her girlfriends were eagerly awaiting the update after the question was popped. But it hadn’t been a question. It had been a pronouncement.

Clayton Moore was dumping her.

At least now they could all stop wondering.

She could feel her self panicking all over again. No, she would
not
go down like that. Not for this bastard. She grabbed the glass of red pinot noir and took a huge gulp.

“That’s a good idea; just have a drink and—” Clayton cut himself off when he saw her expression.

Her grip on the glass tightened. She saw Clayton’s eyes shift from her venomous glare down to the hand clenching the glass. As if reading her thoughts he put his hands up.

“Now, London,” he protested, “I know you’re upset, but let’s be reasonable here. Do you really want to make a scene? This is a $300 suit!”

His suit?
He had just driven a dagger in her heart and all he was thinking about was his fucking suit? Her grip tightened.

Instead of throwing it in his face, which the baser part of her wanted desperately to do, she took another long swig. It was followed by a deep breath. She put the glass down before she did something stupid. She wasn’t about to embarrass herself for this…
man
sitting across from her.

She closed her eyes and took several more breaths. There had to be an explanation, a reason. Why would he break up with her after ten years together? She wanted answers—
deserved
answers!

“I don’t understand, Clayton,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “I thought we were good.”

“It’s not you, London,” he said, a placating tone in his voice.

“Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’” she threatened. After ten years she deserved more than that tired line.

“No, it’s…it’s your father,” he sighed.

That one threw her. Her eyes flew open wide. “What?” asked said with genuine shock. “What does my father have to do with
us?
”

“Well,” he sighed again and took a sip from his glass of wine. “You know I have political ambitions. It’s how I’ve finally worked my way up to Senior Legislative Assistant for Dion Davis.”

“You mean the Dion Davis who my
father
”—she made sure to stress the word—“helped get elected state representative? Who my
father
”—she stressed the word again—“is helping to get elected mayor of New York?”

“And we totally appreciate that,” he was quick to admit.

“So what exactly is the problem?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He gave her a long, wary look. “I just need to be associated with a family that’s not so…controversial.”

“Controversial?” she asked.

“Well, I hope to follow Dion to the office of Mayor, eventually President of the United States. I need to be associated with a family that….”

“That what?” she prodded. “Just spit it out, Clayton!” By now she was beyond curious—she was angry.

“That doesn’t succumb to
antics
,” he said with exasperation.

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked incredulously.

“You know how he is in court,” he said. “With his mental thesaurus and theatrics.”

“He
wins
, that’s what he does in court,” she spat back at him.

“And the way he grandstands for the press,” Clayton continued.

“Your guy seemed to have no problem when he was grandstanding for the press to promote his run for office,” she retorted.

“It’s about appearances, London!” he cried. “Frankly, he acts like….”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest of that, but she held his gaze all the same.

“He acts like a
buffoon
,” he spat. “London, we’ve moved beyond the days of shuckin’ and jivin’ to get ahead. I need to be associated with a serious family.”

She gasped. “How dare you!” she said just a bit too loud.

Clayton looked around at the tables near them, where people were beginning to sense the tension in the air. “Keep your voice down, London,” he hissed.

“What?” she spat. “Am I acting too much like a
buffoon
? Too much
shuckin’
and
jivin’
for your comfort level?” she sneered, raising her voice just to spite him.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he retorted. “I need a Michelle Obama, not a Real Housewife of Atlanta.”

Seriously?

“Are you honestly drawing your lines from
Legally Blonde
?” she asked incredulously.

He gave her a perplexed expression and it took him a moment to get what she was referring to.

London ignored him while he pondered that. Sweet mercy! Her life was turning into a fucking movie. But this was no movie, this was real life. Movies had happy endings. London could see absolutely no light at the end of this tunnel. There was no secret admirer or someone special that she was meant to be with waiting in the wings. She hadn’t even
dated
in ten years!

Fucking Clayton Moore.

London looked over at him sipping his wine and looking anxiously at the people around them, no doubt still worried about his image.

She gripped the glass again, so very close to doing something she knew she’d regret. She took a deep breath. Her rational mind took over. She certainly wasn’t going to prove him right by doing exactly what he would expect, and turn her glass of wine over on his head. Instead she grabbed the bottle and poured the rest of it into her glass and drank.

Assuming the worst was over, he spoke up again. “Now, I know it’s your turn to pay. But just so we end this on equal footing with one another, I’m willing to go Dutch…considering the circumstances.”

She stopped mid-sip, not sure he had actually suggested what he just did. She eyed the crisp white shirt and neatly pressed suit jacket, wondering what it would look like with a colorful splash of red.

Don’t do it, London.

Over the next week she would spend many moments regretting not doing it. Tonight, at least, she kept her—and more importantly—her
family’s
, dignity intact.

“You son of a bitch.”