Excerpt
Layla reached across the small table. Patting Siri’s arm, she said, “The night things started with me, Gil, and Hunter, you said you and Rick were having argyle-sock sex. The repetitive and boring kind?”
Siri winced. “Um, yeah, I did kind of use that phrase, didn’t I?”
Layla nodded. “So...does it still apply?”
“To tell the truth, we’ve always been that way.”
Grace gasped. “But you love sex! Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because... Oh, Grace, I didn’t want you comparing me and Rick to you and Nico.” Siri glanced at Layla. “Or to you and Gil—and now Hunter.” She drew in a breath. How to explain the beating her sexual confidence had taken lately? “I thought maybe Rick didn’t have a strong libido. Otherwise, we do have a lot in common—”
“Yeah, abstract art and dilapidated buildings.” Grace faked a yawn. “Whoop-de-do.”
“Turf his ass,” Layla advised. “Now.”
Siri swigged her drink, the ice cubes clicking against her teeth. “There’s more to the story. I did something for him.” Now that she’d started spilling the whole miserable tale, she might as well spread it all over Layla’s tidy table.
“What?” Grace asked.
“I thought it would get Rick’s motor revving, so when he brought up the idea I didn’t need convincing. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for myself for a while, anyway.” She’d needed to drag herself out of her funk. By acting a little crazy, spontaneous, and wild.
Grace bounced on her chair. “What, Siri, what?”
Siri put down her glass. What the hell—she would just show them. She and Grace had played sex games as curious tweens eager to learn about their bodies, and Layla was as uninhibited as they came, so it was no big deal.
She pushed back her chair. Standing, she unzipped her jeans and whipped down her panties. The warm air flitted over her neatly trimmed pussy lips, which buzzed as her friends stared.
Grace’s mouth dropped open. “Your clit is pierced!”
“Technically, the actual clit isn’t—”
Layla hooted. “Did it hurt?”
Spirits lifting, Siri grinned. “Calm down, chickies, and I’ll explain.” As her long, loose curls drifted over her shoulders, she touched the titanium bead resting on the apex of her sensitive clit hood. A second bead nestled the bottom edge. “It’s a VCH—a vertical clit hood piercing. The pain depends on your anatomy. For me, it wasn’t bad. Apparently, piercing the clit itself can hurt like a vampire is eating you out.”
“Ooh, fangs,” Grace murmured.
Tapping her chin, Layla peered over the table at the glinting jewelry. “How does that precious baby work?”
“A curved barbell sits under the hood. When you play with the jewelry, the movement stimulates your clit. Like this.” Siri wiggled her piercing. The light pressure spun ripples through the area. Beneath her top, her nipples stiffened. “Hmm.”
Layla’s voice softened. “I imagine in the right hands or mouth, it would feel very stimulating.”
“It is! It makes you hyper-aware.” Even now, with her girlfriends watching, the brief demonstration sparked arousal between Siri’s legs. “At first I climaxed just walking around. But there’s a healing period, and when Rick realized he couldn’t manhandle the jewelry for a couple of weeks, he grew bored.” Eyes drifting shut, she wiggled the barbell again. Ahhh. Her clit pulsed.
“Let me guess.” Layla’s voice breached the sensual cloud enveloping Siri. “It’s been all about the needs of Ricky’s pricky and little to do with your desires.”
Siri nodded, eyes still closed. Days after her piercing, following a series of never-ending blowjobs to alleviate Rick’s disappointment over her temporary sexual restrictions, they attended a business dinner celebrating Caribbean-born Lucas Haines joining Clifton Jones Architects. A newcomer to Vancouver via several years in Toronto, Lucas arrived at the upscale grillhouse solo. Siri sat sandwiched between Rick and Terence Clifton, Rick’s boss, while Terence’s wife Jacquie occupied a spot across the table, beside Lucas.
Four additional architects and their significant others comprised the remainder of the party. Excitement had lit Jacquie’s eyes as she’d positioned her chair closer to Lucas than Siri had thought necessary. Close enough to fondle the man’s cock beneath the table—if Jacquie had dared.
Siri’s memories of that night six weeks ago floated in her lust-hazed mind. Whoever had coined the phrase “charismatic smile” must have been thinking about a man like Lucas Haines. His straight white teeth and sensual lips…oh, my God! His deep voice combined with his faded Jamaican accent had sounded as rich and decadent as the chocolate mousse she’d ordered for dessert.
Throughout the dinner, every time he glanced at her—his cocoa skin, close-cropped goatee, and espresso eyes commanding her attention—her pussy clenched. At one point, she’d shifted on her chair. An innocent move—cross her heart. The VCH had gone to work. Next thing she’d known, she’d shot toward climax. Right beside Rick.
She’d squeezed shut her eyes and bowed her head, biting her lip while riding the crest. When she looked up, neither Rick nor Terence—engaged in shop talk around her back—had noticed a damn thing. And Jacquie was busy monopolizing Lucas with questions about his island childhood with a Jamaican mother and British father. Lucas interrupted the conversation long enough to catch Siri’s gaze and slip her a wink…as if he’d known.
Yep, she’d had an orgasm sitting between her career-addicted boyfriend and his overachieving boss at a crowded restaurant table because of gorgeous Lucas Haines, the VCH, and her pathetic sex life.
|
