DeVon, and I had flown in from LA. Not only were Carrie and Gavin officially announcing their engagement, but it was also the re-opening of their club, the place where they'd had their first date. Well, sort of. The story of their relationship was the only one I knew that was even crazier than how DeVon and I had come together. The two of them had been through a lot and they deserved this celebration.
“There.” DeVon's voice sent a shiver through me even though there wasn't anything sexual about the word or his intensions. His hand on my back sent heat through me that had nothing to do with the press of bodies all around us.
I followed where he pointed and saw the person I'd been looking for. I grinned and shouted her name as I made my way through the crowd towards my friend. When I'd first met her at Columbia, she'd been much quieter and definitely less well-dressed. She was always beautiful, but her time with Gavin had given her the confidence to show the person I'd always known her to be.
We'd been roommates since freshman year and being apart for this long hadn't been easy. Of course, we'd both made new friends and found the paths our lives were meant to take, but that didn't mean we hadn't missed each other. The thing about being so close, the two of us picked up right where we'd left off. After a while, Dena and Leslie chose partners from their many admirers and moved off to dance. Gavin and Carrie headed off somewhere – I assumed to visit the private room she'd told me about the club having. And I definitely didn't blame her. If I had a hot guy and a private sex playroom, I'd spend as much time in there as possible. Well, I had at least one half of that equation here.
I looked up at DeVon. “Shall we dance?” I held out my hand.
He smiled at me, a slow, sensual smile that tightened things low inside me. That was the kind of smile I'd learned held the promise of great things to come. When DeVon and I had first been doing this little back-and-forth thing where we tried to deny how we felt about each other, he'd said that he didn't dance. When asked why by one of our mutual friends, he'd said it was because he'd never found the right partner.
He slid his hand into mine and the two of us moved onto the dance floor. His hand slid up my bare arm and then down to the small of my back. He pulled me tight against him until our bodies were pressed together intimately. If we'd been at a normal dance club, it might've been almost obscene, the way we began to move together, but here, everything was a precursor to sex. Well, except for the actual sex that I assumed was happening in the more dimly lit parts of the club.
“That dress looks amazing.” DeVon pressed his mouth against my ear. The hand on my back moved down to my ass. “But I don't like it.”
I turned my head enough to give him a puzzled look.
“Too many men in here are wondering if you could possibly look as good without it as you do with it.” His hand slid lower and the tips of his fingers brushed against the tops of my thighs.
I'd specifically chosen this dress because it wasn't one I could wear to a function back home – when had I started referring to LA as home instead of New York? – and the re-opening of a sex club had seemed like the perfect fit for it. It was simple in the sense that it was plain white, without any fancy stitching or cuts, but no one would describe the dress as boring. At least not the way I was wearing it. Carrie would've called the dress one of my “barely there” outfits.
“There are just as many women looking at you,” I countered. And it wasn't just women. I saw more than a few men looking our way who weren't checking me out.
“Well, if people are looking.” DeVon's Italian accent thickened the way it always did when he was angry or aroused. “Maybe we should give them something to look at.”
I was wearing my favorite heels, which put me close enough to DeVon's over-six-feet frame that all I had to do was
“There.” DeVon's voice sent a shiver through me even though there wasn't anything sexual about the word or his intensions. His hand on my back sent heat through me that had nothing to do with the press of bodies all around us.
I followed where he pointed and saw the person I'd been looking for. I grinned and shouted her name as I made my way through the crowd towards my friend. When I'd first met her at Columbia, she'd been much quieter and definitely less well-dressed. She was always beautiful, but her time with Gavin had given her the confidence to show the person I'd always known her to be.
We'd been roommates since freshman year and being apart for this long hadn't been easy. Of course, we'd both made new friends and found the paths our lives were meant to take, but that didn't mean we hadn't missed each other. The thing about being so close, the two of us picked up right where we'd left off. After a while, Dena and Leslie chose partners from their many admirers and moved off to dance. Gavin and Carrie headed off somewhere – I assumed to visit the private room she'd told me about the club having. And I definitely didn't blame her. If I had a hot guy and a private sex playroom, I'd spend as much time in there as possible. Well, I had at least one half of that equation here.
I looked up at DeVon. “Shall we dance?” I held out my hand.
He smiled at me, a slow, sensual smile that tightened things low inside me. That was the kind of smile I'd learned held the promise of great things to come. When DeVon and I had first been doing this little back-and-forth thing where we tried to deny how we felt about each other, he'd said that he didn't dance. When asked why by one of our mutual friends, he'd said it was because he'd never found the right partner.
He slid his hand into mine and the two of us moved onto the dance floor. His hand slid up my bare arm and then down to the small of my back. He pulled me tight against him until our bodies were pressed together intimately. If we'd been at a normal dance club, it might've been almost obscene, the way we began to move together, but here, everything was a precursor to sex. Well, except for the actual sex that I assumed was happening in the more dimly lit parts of the club.
“That dress looks amazing.” DeVon pressed his mouth against my ear. The hand on my back moved down to my ass. “But I don't like it.”
I turned my head enough to give him a puzzled look.
“Too many men in here are wondering if you could possibly look as good without it as you do with it.” His hand slid lower and the tips of his fingers brushed against the tops of my thighs.
I'd specifically chosen this dress because it wasn't one I could wear to a function back home – when had I started referring to LA as home instead of New York? – and the re-opening of a sex club had seemed like the perfect fit for it. It was simple in the sense that it was plain white, without any fancy stitching or cuts, but no one would describe the dress as boring. At least not the way I was wearing it. Carrie would've called the dress one of my “barely there” outfits.
“There are just as many women looking at you,” I countered. And it wasn't just women. I saw more than a few men looking our way who weren't checking me out.
“Well, if people are looking.” DeVon's Italian accent thickened the way it always did when he was angry or aroused. “Maybe we should give them something to look at.”
I was wearing my favorite heels, which put me close enough to DeVon's over-six-feet frame that all I had to do was
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