Tempted (15 page)

Maybe because Alex was so charming with his stories. Or the way he got drunk but not sloppy, not spilling or stumbling. He drank like it was a skill, like bowling. Or golf. And James, who didn’t drink much and tended to get sloppy and silly when he did, seemed to take Alex’s lead. He wasn’t sloppy or silly, but apparently, he was horny.

I made myself comfortable, the blanket around my shoulders and my body stretched out along the lounger. His prick might not have been able to lift bricks, but it was admirably erect. I traced the rim of the head with the tip of my tongue. I took him into my mouth inch by inch instead of all at once, accustoming myself to his girth.

I’ve never found monstrous penises attractive. Bigger is not always better. Huge, vein-encircled members the size of a baby’s forearm, like the ones they show in porn films, always left me feeling half-horrified and wanting to clamp my legs closed. I’ve never found the idea of fucking a tree trunk appealing.

James has a thick penis, shorter than some I’ve seen but beautifully proportioned. I can take him all the way to the back of my mouth without choking. Sucking James is a treat, a pleasure for both of us. I love the sounds he makes when I cover him with my mouth that first time.

He made that noise then, a low half gasp mingled with a groan. The hand in my hair tangled tighter, not quite pushing me down but almost ready to.

I’d spent hours with my mouth between his legs, sucking and licking. This was not the time for that. No teasing, no lingering. He’d been hard for hours as he rubbed me surreptitiously, getting me off in the presence of his friend. He was already pushing upward as I sucked him. Already close.

I pulled the blanket over my head, shielding myself against the night. I made love to him with lips and tongue, with a hand stroking his shaft while I sucked the head of his cock. Even in the darkness I knew him. The shape and taste of him. The way he moved as his orgasm approached. Even in the dark I couldn’t really pretend I was sucking someone else’s cock.

Could I?

There’s no shame in fantasy. If imagining you’re in bed with your favorite movie star or rock singer helps make you come, who’s getting hurt? It only becomes a problem when the fantasy becomes the only way to find pleasure, not just one way to enhance it.

I’d had my share of celebrity-inspired daydreams, but this time the face that filled my mind had large gray eyes and deep brown hair feathering over his ears. He had a lazy smile and smelled like sin. I wasn’t thinking about some unreachable fantasy. I was thinking about Alex.

“So good,” James said.

I thought of his smile, the one he’d stolen. My hand crept between my thighs, inside my panties, found hot slick flesh already satisfied once but far from sated. My fingertip settled without faltering on my clit. The hard nodule rolled easily, already wet.

I thought of his smile. His scent. I thought of low-slung jeans. Bare feet. Bare chest.

My body hummed with pleasure. My hand moved in time with my mouth. James moaned and thrust. My belly tightened, thighs trembled. Clit pulsed. My cunt was alive with humming, buzzing pleasure.

I sucked and licked and stroked. I was close. He was close. The world faded away, nothing but blackness under the blanket, nothing but the smell of sex, the sound of sex, the taste of it.

His smile. His laugh, low and somehow sly. The burning wink of a cigarette in the dark.

James let out a hoarse cry and thrust inside my mouth. I swallowed him, his taste flooding me. I came for the second time that night, sharp and hard, something inside me snapping. The chair squeaked as we shuddered together.

Eyes closed, I rested my cheek against James’s thigh. He pulled away the blanket and fresh air bathed my face. His hand stroked softly down my hair.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, slurring a little. “I wanted that so much. You don’t know how much.”

I waited a moment or two more before we got up and folded the blanket and took ourselves inside to bed. I paused outside the closed door to the guest bedroom, James already having stumbled down the hall and into ours.

I’d been thinking of Alex when I came, a thought I might have felt guilty about, but for one thing—I thought James might have been thinking about him, too.

Morning came way too early, and I hadn’t even been drinking. Despite that, James was up and out of bed at his usual time. I woke to the sound of the shower running and a voice singing.

James was…singing? I propped myself on one elbow to listen. He was rocking out to something by…Duran Duran? And not early-90s-comeback-tour double Duran, but classics from the 80s. He was singing something about blue silver when I pulled the covers back over my head in protest and tried to go back to sleep.

It was useless. In the light of morning, albeit the barely glimmering light of dawn, the night before seemed more like something I’d dreamed than a real event. I waited to feel embarrassed. Or guilty. What was keeping me on edge wasn’t my flirtation with Alex, because after all, who could’ve blamed me for reacting to his practiced seduction? No, what had my eyes popped open wide despite my intense desire to return to slumber was, in the end, James.

James singing Duran Duran. James drinking. James insisting on a frantic blow job.

“Morning.” Still damp from his shower, he slid into bed next to me for a kiss. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” I wriggled to turn on the pillow and look at him. “You?”

“Like a rock.” He grinned and kissed me again, then hopped out of bed to dress.

I watched him. “You feel all right today?”

He glanced over his shoulder as he slid into jeans and a T-shirt. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because you had a lot to drink last night. You both did.”

Grabbing up his socks, James sat on the edge of the bed to put them on. “Alex can hold his booze, babe. And I can, too. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it.” I got on my knees behind him to put my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

He patted my arm and turned his face to kiss me properly. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, Anne. We’re just having fun. It’s fun having him here.”

I didn’t agree or disagree. James got up and swiped back his wet hair with one hand as he put on a baseball cap with the other. He grabbed up his leather belt and slid it through the belt loops, buckling it with swift fingers. He put his cell phone into the belt clip and his wallet in his back pocket. His boots, probably caked with dirt from the construction site, would be by the side door.

“Gotta run,” he said. “Love you. Have a good time today.”

I must’ve looked perplexed because he grinned. “With Alex. On second thought, Anne, don’t have too good of a time. Don’t get into trouble.”

I rolled my eyes. “As if.”

He laughed. “If I come home and he’s wearing a thong—”

I threw a pillow at him. “Shut up!”

James caught the pillow and tossed it back. “See ya.”

“Have a good day.” I remembered something. “Oh…James, tomorrow I’m having dinner with my sisters, remember? To go over plans for the party.”

He shrugged as he slid his arms into a windbreaker. “Okay. We’ll go out, maybe. Hit the sports bar for wings or something. Don’t worry, honey, we’re big boys. We’ll keep ourselves occupied.”

Why did that thought give me another twinge of uncertainty? “I know you will. Just…”

He paused and turned in the doorway. “Hmm?”

“Be careful,” I said, the admonition failing to convey what I really meant.

“Always.” With a wink, he was gone.

I waited until the rumbling sound of his truck faded away before I got out of bed to face the day. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do with Alex this morning, but I was one hundred percent certain it did not involve a thong.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to do anything with him. I spent the morning on the computer, researching local caterers and pit roast beef suppliers. I love the Internet. Once I’d seen a bumper sticker that said The Internet: it’s not just for porn, anymore. I totally agreed.

I also loved being in a house so quiet I forgot I wasn’t alone. I made coffee, browsed the Net, read my e-mail, chatted for a few minutes with a school friend who lived so far away I never saw her but with whom I talked almost daily. I updated my résumé and thought about adding it to a job search site, but I’d only managed to begin setting up my login account with one of them when the doorbell rang.

The morning had become afternoon to my astonishment as I looked at the clock. I wasn’t expecting anyone and was doubly surprised to find my sister Claire on the doorstep. Today she wore black capri-length pants with a matching black top dotted with a pattern of tiny skulls, and funky black-and-red striped shoes. She’d tucked her hair under a brimless red cap. She looked paler than usual, but I figured she’d overdone it on the pale foundation.

“Hiya,” she said, pushing past me and heading for the kitchen without waiting for me to say a word. “I’m starving.”

I followed her. “You know how to open the fridge. Help yourself.”

She did, grabbing a container of cubed melon and then a fork. She ate a few bites, quickly, and I swore I saw a faint blush of color return to her face.

“Sit.” I pointed at the table. “Coffee?”

“I’ll have water.”

I’d already been pouring her a cup and now looked up. “No coffee?”

Claire made a face. “You need a hearing aid or what?”

“Fine, water.” I shrugged. “Help yourself.”

She did that, too, then sat across from me with a sigh. She’d also found a box of crackers that had to be stale, but she ate them anyway.

“I thought we were all meeting tomorrow at six,” I said.

“We are.” She licked crumbs from her lip and drank some water with a sigh.

“So…?” I raised a brow.

“So nothing.” Claire shrugged. “I needed to get out of the house. Dad’s got some sort of use-it-or-lose-it vacation time, so he’s been hanging around.”

“Yeah, so instead of taking Mom somewhere fun, he’s doing what?” My words were critical but I was careful to keep from sounding bitter.

“He’s spending a lot of time in his workshop.” Claire wasn’t as careful. She didn’t bother to hide her expression, either, the curled lip and wrinkled nose.

That was never good. Our father had two hobbies. Bowling and making birdhouses. His team was one of the top in the league, and he made beautifully detailed replicas of famous buildings as birdhouses. Sadly, neither hobby seemed to bring him as much joy as the drinking that accompanied both.

“I can’t believe he’s never cut off a fucking finger or something,” Claire said.

“Claire, God. Don’t wish for that.”

“Right. Because then Mom would just have to wait on him even more,” my sister said.

She stabbed melon and ate it. I reached for a piece myself. It was sweet and good, and juice ran down my chin. We giggled as I wiped it.

The soft pad of bare feet on the wood floor made us both turn. Alex wandered into the kitchen. His hair stuck up, rumpled all over. He wore a pair of Hello Kitty pajama bottoms that hung even lower than his jeans had, and again bare feet. When had the sight of a man’s toes become so erotic?

He disappeared behind the open door of the fridge as he rootled inside for something, coming out with a plastic container of leftover steak and rice. He popped off the lid and put the bowl in the microwave, set the timer and poured himself a mug of coffee, all without so much as a smirk in our direction.

He’d obviously been saving it for when he could give us his full attention. When the timer beeped he pulled out the food and, mug in hand, swaggered to the table and took the empty seat next to Claire. He looked from her to me and back again, then sipped his coffee. He made a long, low noise of enjoyment.

“Mmmmmmm,” he said. “Coffee.”

I’ve been known to be at a loss for words, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Claire so gobsmacked. We both stared, our mouths agape, at the entire proceedings. Having the advantage of already having met him, I recovered first.

“Claire, this is Alex Kennedy. James’s friend. Alex, this is my sister Claire.”

“Hello, darlin’.” Alex gave her a slow, lazy grin and checked her out from head to toe without trying to hide the examination. He even leaned to the side to look at her feet.

“Sweet shoes,” he said as he returned to his full and upright position.

“Nice pants,” Claire said.

Alex grinned. So did Claire. I just shook my head.

Alex swiveled his gaze to me. “And good morning to you.”

“It’s almost three o’clock,” I told him.

He sipped coffee. “Jet lag.”

Claire leaned in and gave him a sniff. “Sure it’s not hangover?”

“Could be a bit of that, too. Jamie make it off to work all right this morning?”

“He did.” I sipped my own coffee, which had become cool.

“James was boozing last night, too?” Claire made a face. “Interesting.”

“Alex cooked us all dinner,” I explained. “There was…wine. And beer.”

I’ve never banned drinking from my house. We’re all grownups, and just because I don’t indulge doesn’t mean I have a problem with anyone having a glass of wine or beer with dinner.