Olivia Cunning - Touch Me

“Remember when we used to see who could jerk one out the fastest?” Owen said, soaping his own cock now.

Kelly chuckled. “God, we were immature,” he said.

“Um, yeah, immature.”

Owen hurried to rinse the soap from his body. He then shut off the water and found his clothes. Before he slid into his boxer briefs, he switched out the metallic balls in his centered dydoe piercing to a larger, mismatched set. He found the . . . what had Adam called it—the monstrosity in his junk—gave both himself and his partner the greatest thrill if the balls were of different sizes. He absolutely loved the reaction that little piece of jewelry got from the ladies the first time they saw it. And loved it even more the first time they experienced it inside them.

Grinning in anticipation, Owen dressed in all black, but not the typical jeans and T-shirt he usually wore. He slipped into a pair of tailored slacks and a button-down shirt. He did wear his Converse though, because they were the only shoes he ever wore. His tattoos all concealed beneath his clothes, he decided to play down his rocker image. He removed his lip piercing and the barbells in his nipples, but left the half-inch black plugs in his ears since when he went without jewelry, the holes were even more noticeable. He fingered the hoop in his eyebrow and decided to leave it in as well. The piercing had never healed right, so he had a hard time getting the ring back in the hole if he took it out.

“All black tonight? If you had a cape, you could be a vampire,” Kelly said, using his towel to dry his long hair instead of using it to conceal his body.

“Black is slimming.”

“You’re not fat any more, Owen.”

“I know.” Owen ran a hand over his flat belly, making sure those rock hard abs he worked so hard to maintain hadn’t suddenly disappeared. Still there.

He added a touch of product to the ends of his damp hair, arranging the dark blond locks into disarray. “Hurry up, Kelly,” he said, suddenly eager to get to the club and fuck any woman who would have him.

“Keep your pants on,” Kelly said as drew a brush through his longish black hair.

“Hopefully, I won’t have to for long.”

Caitlyn was going to screw every man in this club. That would show the insufferable bastard. She had trusted him, loved him, and picked his damned dirty underwear off the floor for twelve years. How could he do this to her? Her no-good, lying, son-of-a-bitch ex-husband had cheated on her with a freshman in his introductory English class. A nineteen-year-old. A baby. Then he’d had the audacity to file for divorce stating irreconcilable differences. Yeah, he wanted to put his dick in someone, and Caitlyn had an irreconcilable difference of opinion that it should be only her. The worst part was that because she made more money than the asshole, she had to pay alimony while he spent his summer off in Italy fucking that little tramp. How was that fair? How was that even legal?

Caitlyn was going to screw every man in this club twice. That’s what she’d told herself while she was purchasing sexy lingerie in the shop downstairs. What she’d told herself when she’d been changing into her new white lace nightie, thigh-high stockings, and four-inch heels. That’s what she told herself when she’d marched into the club and strutted—the best she could in these ridiculous shoes—across what might have been a dance floor if anyone had been dancing. But the other patrons were occupied with activities that made Caitlyn alternately gawk and avert her eyes. They were involved in things she hadn’t done in the privacy of her own bedroom, much less in public.

Yeah, she was about to go do some of that stuff herself. Lots of that stuff. And she would mentally give Charles the middle finger the entire time another man was stuffing her with his cock.

So why was she hiding in a secluded corner avoiding eye contact? And why were her knees knocking together?

She’d asked Jenna to bring her to the club. Asked Jenna to leave her here. By herself. Because Caitlyn had been afraid that she wouldn’t be able to open her thighs to a stranger and at the first sign of masculine interest, would have begged Jenna to take her home. That wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Charles. Not that she cared if she hurt him as much as he had hurt her—she doubted it was possible anyway. Word would get back to him that she’d come here, and she’d make damn sure he thought she’d participated in the orgy of her life. And that she’d loved every minute of it. Without him.

At least that had been her plan when she’d arrived.

But instead of participating in the overt sexual acts going on around her, Caitlyn observed. And tried not to feel like a coward and a loser and the most unattractive, undesirable, oldest woman in the place. Tried to pretend she was alone because she wanted to be, not because no one wanted her. Being here was not making her feel better about herself or empowered or even sexy. Why had she come?

Caitlyn had only ever slept with one man. Charles couldn’t claim he’d slept with only one woman. He couldn’t even claim he’d slept with only one woman when he’d been married. Would removing Charles’s claim over her body help her heart mend? She’d thought so at first, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Caitlyn watched yet another couple leave the main parlor to go to one of the private rooms in the back and then lowered her eyes to stare at her thumbs. The man had held the woman’s breast in his hand and had his other hand down her panties—teasing her, stroking her, making her moan—as if he couldn’t wait to take her, to touch her.

Caitlyn wanted someone to take her. To touch her.

God, how she wanted someone to touch her.

How long had it been since a man had found her irresistible?

Had a man ever found her irresistible? Yeah, Charles had once. When she’d been a freshman in his introductory English class. An innocent, trusting virgin. It seemed he didn’t find women over thirty attractive at all. Did anyone?

What did she have to do to feel sexy again? To feel wanted? Sitting in a frilly white negligée in the corner of a sex club staring at her thumbs wasn’t working so well for her. Not the way she’d thought it would. She’d thought braving this place would make her feel confident. Attractive. Desirable. Instead she felt out of place and uncomfortable.

“Do you know what your problem is, beautiful?” a deep voice asked from the chair across the table from her.

She hadn’t realized anyone had sat down. “What?” she snapped.

“You’re much too pretty to give off such incredible men-suck vibes.”

She caught herself before she said, Men do suck. They suck shit-encrusted balls. But she’d have been lying. Not all men sucked. Charles sucked. But not all men did. She liked men. Most of the time. Most of her colleagues were men, and she got along just fine with them.

Caitlyn stared at a pair of dog tags resting against a black button-down shirt covering a man’s chest. Her heart thudded too fast for her to find the courage to actually meet his eyes. He’d called her beautiful. Pretty. Was this that masculine attention she’d both coveted and dreaded? She was pretty sure he was hitting on her. Wasn’t he? She’d never dated much before she’d gotten married. She wasn’t sure how this worked.

Oh God, what was she doing here? If she made eye contact would he expect her to have sex with him? Could she go through with this? “You’re very perceptive,” she managed to say.

“I was wondering why the most attractive woman in the room was sitting by herself in a corner. I thought maybe the possessive, hot-tempered, black-belt martial artist you were with was in the bathroom or something, but I watched you for a while and figured out why you’re not surrounded by admirers. It’s those men-suck vibes you’re giving off.”

“So why didn’t they scare you away?” She lifted her eyes, and her breath caught. Not only was he the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on, he was young—in his midtwenties. His dark blond hair was lightly gelled into a devil-may-care style that matched the twinkle in his blue eyes. Those eyes were a mesmerizing contrast to the warm tanned hue of his skin. A small hoop pierced one eyebrow, and he wore round cylinders in both earlobes—plugs or whatever they were called. She’d have thought he was an actor or a model if not for those accessories marring his otherwise perfect features.

“I don’t scare easy when I see something I want.” He grinned at her, flashing even white teeth and self-confidence that made her believe he didn’t want for long. No, this one attained. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

He’d called her beautiful again. She’d never needed a man’s praise to make her feel good about herself before she’d caught Charles with his pants around his knees while he thrust his pathetic cock into that nubile nineteen-year-old vagina on his desk. Sure, that vagina had been part of a person, but watching it engulf her husband’s cock was an image Caitlyn would never be able to scrub from her memory. With all the long hours she’d been working, their sex life had gotten a little stale, so she’d thought to surprise him in his office. Oh, she’d surprised him all right. And gotten the shock of her life as well.

The attractive man’s fingertips lightly brushed the back of her wrist and drew her away from her thoughts. That slight contact had emotions warring within her. She was flattered yet skeptical. Tense and uncomfortable, yet relieved that someone had noticed her. Grateful that he had called her beautiful. Thankful that he was either a great actor or actually was attracted to her.

Shoot, maybe he just pitied her for being alone.

“I’m Caitlyn,” she said, remembering that he’d asked her name.

“Why did you come here, Caitlyn?”

Because I’m lonely. Because my husband left me for a younger woman and I feel ugly. Old. Oh God, it’s been so long since someone has made me feel attractive that I don’t even know what to say to you.

“I was curious,” she said.

That was partially true. She had wondered what went on in places like these. Jenna’s husband was friends with the club’s owner and when Jenna had jokingly said Caitlyn needed to go there to get laid and work Charles out of her system, Caitlyn had surprised even herself by insisting she did. But she wasn’t going to start spilling her guts to strangers. She scarcely spilled them to her closest friends. She’d come to visit Jenna, her college roommate, in San Antonio on a whim. Mostly because she couldn’t stand to sit alone in her big house on the bay for another night. A house she’d once dreamed of filling with a loving family. Back when Charles had led her to believe that he wanted that too.

Stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about him. Just stop. Caitlyn squeezed her eyes shut and gave her head a hard shake. She then opened her eyes and shared her most dazzling smile with the hottie in black sitting across the bistro table from her.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” she said, doing her damnedest to keep her men-suck vibes under control, because wouldn’t it be spit in Charles’s eye if she hooked up with this good-looking man—this young man—and fucked him all night.

“Owen.”

“Why did you come here, Owen?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he said.

She crinkled her brow in puzzlement.

“I was looking for you.”

She laughed. “I’m pretty sure the only reason you came to talk to me is because all the good ones were already taken.”

“Good ones?”

“The young, pretty ones.”

“She was younger than you, wasn’t she?”

He stroked the back of her hand gently and held her gaze. Caitlyn quickly found herself lost in his startlingly blue eyes.

“Caitlyn?”

She blinked and took a deep breath, trying to remember what he’d asked. “Who was younger than me?”

“The one he cheated with.”

“How do you know he cheated?”

“Men-suck vibes. They’re usually caused by a cheating asshole.”

She wondered how many women he’d seduced this way. He was very good at it. She especially liked that he called Charles an asshole, even though he had no idea who Charles was.

“She was younger. Twenty-five years younger than him. I think what hurts the most is that I was just like her when I met him. I was her age when he left his first wife for me. Took my virginity on the exact same desk he plowed her on. I’m going to send his first wife flowers. What an awful, awful wretch I was to her. I even called her old.”