Getting Lucky

Now I’m ready to fast-track our relationship and jump into bed with him. With those strong thighs, he must be good at fucking. I wonder if his tongue is equally as strong… .

Suddenly I’m remembering Rugged’s tongue all over my pussy. I draw in a sharp breath, my clit throbbing in response to the graphic image playing out in my mind. I may not think that Rugged and I had a chance at a future, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the amazing sex we had. And damn, talk about a guy who loved to eat pussy.

Does he eat Randi’s pussy with the same lust that he did mine?

“For fuck’s sake,” I say aloud. After cussing on the air last month, I am trying to tone down my potty mouth, but I have a feeling that today I’m going to have to give myself a pass.

I’m not even sure why I’m so surprised that Rugged’s engaged. I’d heard that he was dating that rail-thin model. More like a wannabe model. Randi’s the daughter of a local television producer, which, if you ask me, is how she ended up landing various modeling campaigns. I was shocked when the news broke that Rugged was dating her, because after dating me, well, she just didn’t seem like his type.

I glance at my car’s digital display. It is two thirty-six. A full ten minutes since I pulled into this strip mall.

Is this why Rugged called me? I saw his number on my phone three times last week, but he didn’t leave a message. Maybe he wanted to tell me about his plans to propose before he popped the question.

Honestly, so what if Rugged is getting married? It’s not like he broke my heart and ran off with someone else.

I start my car and drive out of the parking lot. I head right, in the direction of my brownstone in Buckhead. But then I think about Annelise’s words: Why don’t you call him? Take the initiative and suggest a second date.

I hit the Phone button on my steering wheel. Then, using the car’s Bluetooth controls, I find Damon’s number, which I programmed into my BlackBerry last night. That’s the one thing I love about this car, how I can sync up my mobile device to it and not use an earpiece because the car is the Bluetooth. Within seconds, Damon’s number is ringing.

I am aware that I’m calling Damon right now because I need a distraction, not because I’m thinking about growing our relationship. I’m ready to get naked with him. And in case you’re wondering, that’s not something I do all the time. In fact, I was celibate for two years after I divorced my cheating husband. And when I end up in bed with someone, it’s usually because I’m going to have a relationship with him.

Like Rugged.

I don’t want to think about Rugged anymore, because the truth is, the news that he’s getting married has shifted my world off its axis. I don’t know why. There was no chance we could ever make a life together.

And yet …

And yet what? If I don’t want him, certainly someone else can have him.

Damon’s deep baritone interrupts my thoughts of Rugged. “Hello?”

“Hey, Damon. It’s Lishelle.”

“Lishelle, hi.” He sounds tired. No surprise there. We were up quite late.

“I was wondering what you were up to.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” And then I add in the best seductive voice I can come up with, “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off last night.”

“Really?” Damon sounds surprised, but I’m not sure if he’s pleased.

“There’s no time like the present.” He also lives in Buckhead, not too far from my place.

He chuckles softly. “I can’t argue with your logic.”

“Is that a yes?” I ask, my voice almost a purr. “Do you want to see me?”

“Definitely.”

I’m grinning as I press the button to end the call. The smile intensifies when I get to Damon’s door and he opens it, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans that hang low on his hips.

His eyes light up when he sees me. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“What’s the point in playing that childish game of waiting for the other person to call first?” I place a hand on his chest, forcing him to take a step backward so that I can enter the house. His lips curl in a slow, devilish grin, the kind that says he can’t wait to get his hands on me.

The feeling is mutual.

Seriously, to look at him now, in the daylight, his body all hard, magnificent muscles, I wonder how I kept myself from jumping his bones last night.

But I don’t think about that now. All I think about is quenching my thirst for lust.

This is totally out of character for me. I’m very selective about who I go to bed with. A guy has to really turn me on for me to be interested, and I generally prefer for my brain to be stimulated as well as my body. But every so often, I guess a woman meets a man who connects with her on a carnal level.

That’s Damon.

Honestly, I didn’t expect that when I ended up at his place he would honor his word not to get me naked. That had been his promise to me at Sambucca lounge—that if I went home with him, we’d chat, hang out and nothing else.

Somehow—except for one hot kiss—exactly that had happened. And I’d appreciated it. The fact that he honored his word has endeared him to me more.

“You don’t want to talk?” he asks me, his voice playful.

“Maybe later,” I tell him. “But first, I want you to kiss me again.”

Damon’s smile says he knows he’s got me. Last night, the kiss damn near had me taking my clothes off, but I had refrained because we had both been playing the “we’ll-be-good” game.

Damon moves toward me, and the next instant, my eyes are fluttering shut as his mouth connects with my skin. His kiss begins at my neck, with broad, sweeping strokes of his tongue. His tongue moves from the base of my neck to the underside of my jaw, eliciting sweet sensations over every part it touches. When he has done the same to the other side of my neck, he gently sinks his teeth into the skin on my cheek. From there, his mouth moves to my mouth, where instead of simply kissing me, his teeth graze my bottom lip. His fingers stroke the baseline of my jaw as we neck, adding to the delicious tingling going through my body.

I’m standing, frozen, letting him work his magic over me. I have never been kissed quite like this before, and I can’t help but savor it for a long moment.

Once Damon has suckled my bottom lip, he pulls back and looks down at me. He grins, and it is clear that he knows just how effective his kiss is.

“You didn’t kiss me like that last night,” I say, as if it is an accusation of some sort. If he had, I think I would have quickly gotten naked.

“Last night, we agreed that we weren’t going to go to bed together. So I gave you a … tamer kiss. But now, you want something more.” He suckles my earlobe.

“Ohhh,” I moan, my pussy throbbing. Suddenly, I need to be naked. I need to have this man’s hands and mouth all over my body.

I reach awkwardly for the zipper at the back of my dress to drag it down. After I fumble for a couple of seconds, Damon says, “No. Let me.”

I expect him to turn me around so that he can have access to the back of my dress, but instead his hands encircle me as he reaches for the zipper. And as his fingers find the zipper, his lips find mine.

Again, Damon’s lips move over me with the skill of someone who has perfected the art of the tease. He knows exactly how to use his lips to excite. What starts as a slow kiss—the kind that says we are equally enjoying every exquisite moment of it—soon turns to raging lust, with both of us hungrily opening our mouths wide, tangling our tongues together as if we cannot get enough of each other. Our breathing is suddenly ragged, our emotions raw. Damon urges the dress over my shoulders and then my hips, and I feel it slip to the floor.

I am surprised when Damon abruptly ends our fiery kiss. Stepping back from me, his eyes move over my upper body—my naked breasts—and he emits the deepest of moans. He likes what he sees. A lot. That kind of knowledge to a woman is power.

“Damn, you’re hot,” he whispers into my ear. Then he covers both my breasts with his hands, letting my nipples grow into taut peaks against his palms. Once they’re hard, he brushes the pads of his thumbs over my nipples again and again. Closing my eyes, I arch my back and moan, wanting more than just his teasing touch.

I flinch when I feel Damon’s tongue between my breasts. I open my eyes and look down at him. I want to see the moment his lips close around my nipples, but instead, he only kisses the area between my breasts and then raises his head to look at me.

“Come on,” he whispers. “As much as I want to do you right now … “ He kisses my cheek. “Right here … “ He kisses my other cheek. “I say we should make it past the doorway. I’ve got a perfectly good bed.”

“I know,” I say, sounding breathless.

Damon takes my hand and walks with me through his loft to the steps that lead upstairs. His bedroom occupies the entire second level, and with the blinds open this afternoon, it affords a great view of Buckhead Triangle Park.

Now that we’re in his bedroom, he gently pushes me and I fall forward onto the bed. Before I can turn over onto my back, he is on top of me. I feel his hands on my legs, his mouth on my ass. He nibbles and licks, driving me wild with desire.

“I love your ass,” he tells me as he trails a finger along the length of the material of my thong from the top of my butt until he reaches the back of my pussy. Within seconds, Damon is pulling my thong over my hips and off my body.

And then I am being turned over, and Damon is spreading my legs, exposing my pussy to him. It’s the middle of the day, the sunlight is spilling in, and I’m on my back, naked, every inch of me bared to this man for the first time.

I ease myself up on my elbows, and my eyes connect with Damon’s. The heat emanating from his gaze is as potent as any touch, and a jolt of delicious pleasure shoots through my body.

Damon holds my gaze as he lowers his head, a slight smirk on his face saying that he knows he has me exactly where he wants me—under his control. I hold my breath, waiting. I love to watch a man eat me.

His lips part. His tongue extends. I’m gripping the sheets, my body so ready for this.

And then he flicks his tongue over my clitoris. A quick flick. A teasing flick. Then another flick. My pussy pulses, my juices already flowing.

Damon groans with pleasure, and the teasing quickly stops. His mouth covers my clitoris fully, and he begins to perform with gusto. He suckles me hard, drinking my honey. He nibbles. He twirls the tip of his tongue over my ever-swelling clit. I ball my hands into fists as I watch it all, enjoying the view of this gorgeous man eating the fuck out of my pussy.

He spreads my legs wider, then adds his fingers, first easing one into my wetness, then another. As my moan of pleasure grows louder, he puts a third finger into my pussy and begins to finger-fuck me hard. He’s still working his teeth and tongue over me, and the sensations are so amazing I can no longer stay up on my elbows. I let my upper body fall onto the bed, my eyes fluttering shut. I concentrate on the sensations of carnal pleasure as this man sucks and fondles me relentlessly. I grip my nipples, massaging them to heighten my stimulation.

My breathing becomes more ragged. I am almost there now. Almost ready to lose myself in an orgasm.

“Oh, God. Oh, yeah. Give it to me, Rugged!”

Damon finger-fucks me harder. “You want it rougher? How’s this?”

As I realize what I said, my words so jar me that I come prematurely. I have a mini orgasm, the kind you end up having when something distracts you.

Damon, thankfully, doesn’t get my meaning. He doesn’t realize that I was calling out to another man while he’s the one going down on me.

“Shit, you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he utters, and continues to finger me and lick me.

I’m not sure how I went from experiencing pure bliss from Damon’s tongue to calling out Rugged’s name. All I know is that it has annoyed me. Annoyed me because I shouldn’t be thinking about Rugged at a time like this.

I squeeze my legs around Damon’s shoulders, determined to forget Rugged. I try in vain to recapture my orgasm. But it has slipped away. Nothing will bring it back now. So I moan and arch my back and put on a show—pretending that I have been gripped by the most amazing climax ever.

Damon doesn’t let up. He grips my thighs and continues to torture my pussy until I rasp, “Fuck me! I need you inside me right now!”

Damon wastes no time getting out of his jeans and briefs. He is erect—and while I should be even more excited, my enthusiasm fizzles slightly.

His cock is on the small side.

I reach for it nonetheless and stroke it, I suppose hoping to make it grow even larger. But it doesn’t, no matter how vigorously I pump his shaft.

Damon runs his fingers through my hair and says, “Hold on one second.”

I watch as he walks to the bedside table, checking out his tight ass and strong thighs. He truly has an amazing body. So what if he’s not the most well-endowed guy I’ve ever been with? I’m sure he knows how to use what he’s got.

He puts on a condom and then comes back to me, climbing on the bed in front of me. I ease onto my back and spread my thighs. He is smiling at me, an I’m-gonna-give-it-to-you-good smile. And when he leans his body over mine and kisses me in the same slow, sexy way that starts at my neck, I am once again tingling all over.

Seriously, that’s a hot fucking kiss.

I wrap my legs around his hips, feel the pressure of his erection between us. I expect him to thrust inside me, but instead Damon moves his lips from mine to my breast and begins to suckle. My God, it feels good. He trills his tongue over my nipple, eliciting heat that spreads throughout my body. And when he adds his fingers as well as his tongue, I know that this time when I come, it will be a great orgasm.

He moves his mouth to my other nipple, nibbles on it gently, flicks his tongue around the hardened tip. I begin to purr and gyrate my hips against him, letting him know that I am ready to be fucked.

Finally, Damon eases back and slips his cock inside me.

Normally, I love this moment. When a cock fills your pussy with its thickness. But Damon’s erection leaves a lot to be desired.

He positions his arms behind my knees and begins to fuck me hard and fast. This is the kind of unyielding movement that should leave a woman breathless during sex. And yet, my excitement is plunging quickly.

“You like that? Huh? Is that rugged enough for you?”

Damn, why did he have to go and mention Rugged? Because thinking of Rugged right now only reminds me just how good he was in bed, and how much Damon isn’t doing it for me.

Damon slips his hand between our bodies and strokes my clit in wild, frantic circles, clearly hoping to help get me off while he’s inside me. I moan, play the part. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m just not going to come this way, and dammit, I need a release. So I find myself saying, “Eat me again, baby. Eat my pussy. Make me come in your mouth again!”

Damon is happy to oblige. He withdraws from my pussy and buries his head between my thighs. As his tongue works its magic, I find myself wondering if I could be with a man with a small penis—as long as he eats pussy as well as Damon does.

The thought is distracting, and I do not want a distraction. Another fizzled orgasm and I will have to go home and pull out my vibrator. It has been so long since I’ve had a real man’s tongue and fingers on me that I do not want to leave here in defeat.

So as Damon’s hot tongue circles my clitoris, I close my eyes, fondle my nipples and allow my mind to go where it wants to go. And suddenly, I’m not thinking about Damon. I’m thinking about Rugged.

I’m imagining Rugged’s tongue all up in my pussy, lapping at my juices. I’m remembering the way he knew just how to tease my clit into submission. “More! Oh, yes, your fingers. Right there. Make me come. Yes, your tongue right there. Oooh, my God. That’s it. Suck my pussy. Baaaaby … “

I start to come, a volcano of sensation. The climax erupts from my pussy and spreads prickles of heat throughout my entire body. I am panting, delirious with the bliss of it. Damon, grunting excitedly, settles himself between my thighs. He thrusts again, hard and fast, and I urge him on with words like “Yes, baby. Fuck me hard! You’re hitting my spot!”

Soon Damon’s body tenses and he succumbs to his own release. I squeeze my vaginal walls around him, hoping to draw out his orgasm. My own body is still enjoying the aftermath of mine.

Sated, Damon lowers his body on top of mine, kissing me. His beautiful body is slick with sweat. We stay like that, kissing and holding each other, until our breathing calms down.

Finally, Damon eases back and looks down at me. He is smiling, that sweet smile. The kind that says he likes me.

Guilt washes over me. I can’t do it … can’t move forward in the hopes of having a relationship with Damon. I need a large, hard cock—the kind that can thrill me for hours.

“I’m glad you came back,” he says.

I grin. “So am I.”

“Are you doing anything this evening? We can go out, get a bite to eat.” He trails a finger around my nipple. “Come back here and go for round two.”

“I wish I could,” I lie. I don’t want to hurt him. He seems like a nice guy. He’s just … not enough. “But I’ve already got plans.”

“That’s okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Um,” I hedge. “Let’s talk later, okay?” I’m already getting up off the bed, gathering my clothes.

“You have time for a shower?”

“I may as well do that when I get home,” I tell him. And I hope—for his sake—that he doesn’t realize I am brushing him off.

I’ll give it a few days. Not answer his calls. Put him off gently. Hope that he gets the hint. And if he doesn’t, I’ll come up with a lame excuse for not being able to see him.

Because as much as I hoped that fucking Damon would help me forget Rugged, it’s made me remember him all the more.

Chapter three

Claudia

YOU CAN TELL YOURSELF OVER AND OVER AGAIN that you’re a strong black woman, a beautiful black woman, that the right man will eventually come along—but that doesn’t quite kill the ache in your soul. Oh, I know I don’t need to be married to be fulfilled. At least I know that logically. But the truth is, I never expected to be in my thirties and single.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it’s the end of the world to be single past your thirtieth birthday. But I know—in my social circle—that people are talking behind my back, wondering what’s wrong with me that I haven’t tied the knot yet. An eligible Black-American Princess like myself—why is she still single?

Maybe people wouldn’t be talking if I hadn’t been engaged to Adam Hart, who turned out to be a sick son of a bitch. I can say that now because I’m over him. Adam has a twisted kinky side, one I ignored because I thought I was marrying the man of my dreams. One everyone in my social circle approved of.

Those same people who approved of Adam are judging me now. I know they are. At charity events, I get the sympathetic stare, the pat on the hand from older women and the assurance that one day I’ll find the perfect man.

It all makes me want to scream.

But as I stare at myself in the mirror, at my light brown skin and soft curls I perfectly styled—because, let’s face it, I’ve got too much time on my hands—I can’t help wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If there’s some reason a nice surgeon or business mogul wouldn’t want to marry me.

I can’t confess the feeling to my two best friends, Lishelle and Annelise. They would tell me that I’m out of my mind, that if the men I meet are too dumb to realize how fantastic I am then there’s something wrong with them. But I can’t stop the thought from popping into my head that the men in my social circle know all about my screwed-up relationship with Adam, and that’s why they don’t want to go anywhere near me.

And when they do want to go near me, it’s because they think that I’ll give it up easily. That I’ll do kinky things in bed with them. Things I regret doing with Adam.

I can’t believe how stupidly I behaved for the sake of keeping my man. And the idea that I may be judged for that forever is really hard to accept.

The rumor mill is alive and well in high society, let me tell you. That’s why I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of finding a man in Atlanta. In fact, I’m pretty much regretting the fact that I said yes to the blind date my brother-in-law’s sister set me up on.

But it’s a Tuesday evening, and I have nothing better to do, and who knows? Maybe Mark Wickham will be the one.

So I finish applying my makeup, get my clutch purse and head out the door. Within minutes, I am in my white BMW and driving toward midtown.

I really don’t want to be here. That’s what I think when I hand my keys to the valet. I am at New York Prime, the restaurant where I am supposed to meet Mark. This place has a reputation of serving the best-quality steaks in town, so if nothing else, I should get a decent meal.

I am still skeptical of this kind of date—the kind initiated by others—but Lishelle’s talk about how well her evening with Damon went has given me some hope.

And there’s no doubt that Mark is a good catch. He’s one of the Wickhams—a publishing dynasty in Georgia. Samson Wickham, Mark’s father, runs Wickham Publications, which publishes a series of monthly magazines for black women, black men, teens and entrepreneurs.

I have met Mark at events in the past, but we’ve never really chatted. I do know that he is attractive and, as far as my family is concerned, he’s from “good stock.”

I’m jaded, of course, which is why I told Mark that I would be driving my own car to the Buckhead restaurant. My dating life has most definitely sucked, but I’m always open to meeting the love of my life.

We’re due to meet at seven o’clock, and my personal rule is to never arrive early for a date. Ten minutes late is just about right. You can tell a lot about a man based on how he reacts to a woman being fashionably late.

I make my way into the steak house, and I sense eyes on me as I enter. It’s confirmation for me that I look good. And in my black sheath dress, with my hair in big, soft curls and my makeup done in the smoky, dramatic look that’s so popular these days, I’m looking especially hot. I suppose that even as wary as I’ve been of dating, I definitely miss sex and am open to seeing where the night might lead.

The hostess smiles warmly as I approach her. “I’m meeting someone,” I say before she can speak. “Mark Wick—”

I stop talking because I notice him. Rather, he has seen me and is now standing, waving to me from his table in the center of the restaurant beside three decorative palm trees.

“There he is,” I say cheerfully, and walk toward him.

Mark remains standing until I reach the table, which is beneath a beautiful, circular skylight. We greet by kissing cheeks. And then his eyes roam over me from head to toe, and I can tell that he likes what he sees.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” I offer him a sweet smile.

“No worries at all. I hope you don’t mind, I ordered us some wine and appetizers.”

He has passed the first test, not making a big deal out of my tardiness.

Mark’s eyes sweep over me once more. “Wow. You look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He pulls my chair out for me and once I’m sitting, helps push it back under the table. Gentleman, I think. Definitely a plus.

He is staring at me with an almost wondrous expression on his face. I wonder what that’s about—until he says, “It’s kind of amazing that we haven’t ever spoken before. I’ve heard of you, of course, and we’ve been at some of the same events … “

“Crazy, isn’t it?” I say.