Nikki's Story: Crave Series, #1 Read online

  Hearing this spurs me on, and I abandon her chest altogether, kissing down her body, and not stopping even when I reach her panties. I kiss the fabric, before peeling it off and tossing it to join the rest of her clothes on the floor.

  She smells so good, my mouth is literally watering for her. Now on my knees, her legs parted, I dive in hungrily, happy to see and taste just how excited I've made her.

  “He wants us to go and see him. To meet her.” I lie in Faye's arms, the smell of sex in the room strong. It's been ten minutes since I brought her to a toe-curling climax, and we're back to being Nikki and Faye Cox-Everett, the loving, very proper couple.

  “So he knows that you're a package deal, that you come with a wife and child?”

  “I told him we've been happily married for five years, and that we have a daughter. I didn't go into detail about her though.”

  “What will you do? Do you want to go?”

  “No. Yes. Morbid curiosity about this mysterious Angelique makes me want to go.” I can't help saying her name with that overblown French accent. It makes her sound just as ridiculous as I imagine her to be. “I mean, what sort of name is that anyway? Who marries a woman more than half their age with a name like a French prostitute?”

  Faye laughs. “Stop it. I'm sure she's a lovely woman who makes your father extremely happy.”

  “Yeah, and how much is he paying her for the pleasure? Men are so stupid. I'm glad I'm a lesbian.” I twist around to kiss my wife, who always looks more beautiful than ever with that after-sex glow.

  “We should go see them, honey. What do you have to lose? Besides, it would be nice for Emily to meet her grandfather.”

  “He didn't even recognize our marriage; I doubt he'll accept her as his grandchild.” I'm looking for excuses not to go, but I know that Faye will talk me into it eventually. She's got this way about her that gets me to be rational when I don't want to be; to see sense and reason when I want to be an ass.

  “Sleep on it at least. I'm sure you'll feel differently in the morning.” She kisses the back of my head. “No matter what, he's your father. It's never easy for parents to accept that their children are gay. At least he's making the effort to reach out.”

  “Why did I have to marry someone so damn sensible?”

  She chuckles. “Because you need me to balance you out. What would you do without me?”

  I hope I never have to find out.

  TWO

  As soon as we pull up outside my father's house, a sense of dread washes over me.

  “Is that a house?” Emily says, pointing at the peculiar construction outside her window. He designed it to look like icebergs joined together. He did it after my mother died. I remember thinking at the time that the crazy design represented his state of mind, losing his wife of twenty years; and I thought he would sell it soon after. But now, fifteen years on, he still has it. There's something chilling, sort of spooky about it. Judging by Emily's expression as she points to it, she's of the same opinion.

  “Architects,” I comment, rolling my eyes. “You'd think someone who's open-minded enough to live in a house like this wouldn't have a problem with his only child marrying someone of the same sex...”

  Faye gives me a look. “Honey, no bad feelings, remember?”

  I put up my hand in surrender. “I'm sorry. I'll be on my best behavior.” I've promised to be, but I don't know how things will pan out as the night progresses.

  “I don't wanna go in,” Emily whines.

  “I know how you feel, baby,” I mumble.

  “We won't be here long, honey. You're going to meet Grandpa Bernie. Don't you want to meet your grandfather?”

  Emily shakes her head and I have to stifle a laugh. Although she resembles Faye, she has my attitude.

  Faye's the one who knocks the door, while I hang back a bit with our daughter. Nothing scares my wife, not even homophobic old men. But the man who answers the door doesn't look like either one of those things. His dark hair has flecks of gray scattered about, but it looks stylish. Surprisingly his skin looks radiant, wrinkle-free. Has he become one of those metrosexual men who don't mind going under the knife? Surely not. What has this new woman done to him?

  “You must be Faye,” he says with a huge, white smile and open arms. He looks like he's about to suffocate her in a hug. Faye only laughs, and waits to be released.

  “This is our daughter Emily,” Faye says. She beckons Emily forward, but the wise preschooler grips onto my hand, hides behind my leg. “Emily, honey, come and say hello to your grandfather.”

  “Come here, girl, don't be shy,” he says. He sounds just like a loving grandfather, but I remain skeptical. “Come and see what I got for you.”

  And of course, when all else fails, there's buying her love, I think to myself.

  Emily, always the opportunist, lets go of my hand and tentatively approaches my dad. He scoops her up and plants a kiss on her cheek, rubbing his stubble on her face. I feel like my daughter has betrayed me now, as I hear her giggling.

  “And what about you, Nikki?” he says, stretching out his free arm.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, and reluctantly step into his embrace. It doesn't last very long, because it's too awkward. We're just not there yet.

  He shows us into the lounge, where there's a stack of toys of all descriptions waiting for Emily, which she immediately helps herself to. It's like Christmas has come early for her.

  “You shouldn't have bought all that stuff,” I say, eying the pile with distaste. “We're trying to teach her the value of money. We don't want to spoil her.”

  He waves a dismissive hand at me. “What's the point being a grandfather if I can't spoil my only grandkid?”

  Faye shoots me an I-told-you-so look, as if to say this guy isn't as bad as I made him out to be, and that he's changed.

  “Thank you, Bernie. It was very kind of you. I think you're now her favorite person in the whole world,” Faye says.

  “She's a beauty.” He looks a little uneasy then, and I know he's going to ask the questions about her conception. He can probably see how much she resembles Faye. Most would assume we used a donor. “I take it you carried her?”

  There's really no easy way of inquiring, but it still sounds coarse. We wait until we're in the kitchen to explain.

  “Actually, no,” Faye responds. It isn't easy for her to talk about it, so I decide to take over.

  “Biologically, she's Faye's niece. Her parents died in a car crash when she was five months old. We adopted her.”

  “Wow, I didn't think...wow,” is all he can say. “That's a really admirable thing you both did.”

  I shrug. “Not really. It was the right thing to do.”

  I know exactly what he's thinking when he looks at me. He remembers how adamant I was that I would never have children; didn't have a motherly bone in my body, would break out in hives if a group of children came near me (okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point). And I continued with this line of thought right up until the accident. I mean, I adored Emily before then, and we were in fact the ones babysitting her when her parents died. But as soon as it happened, there was no question about adopting her. Luckily Faye's sister and her husband had written a will (they were both lawyers) saying they wanted us to be her guardians. I jumped into my role of insta-mom without a second thought. It was as if she was meant to be ours, though I know that's a terrible thing to say.

  “Well, you all make a lovely little family. I mean that.” He sounds like he does, but how can he have done a complete 180, going from hating my lifestyle to calling it lovely? Wonders never cease. I suspect it has something to do with the new woman in his life; maybe she's taught him not to be such a dinosaur.

  “So where's Angelique?” I have to fight the urge not to pronounce her name mockingly, the way I do with everyone else I tell about her.

  “She's running late from the salon. She has a little partnership with a couple of girls from her beauty therapy class. She'll
be here soon, with the food, thank God. I'm starving. Can I get you both a drink?”

  He doesn't wait for us to answer, pulls out a bottle of expensive champagne from the refrigerator, pops it open and pours a glass for us. I know it will be Faye's one and only glass for the night, while I plan on throwing them back like I'm drinking water.

  “So you're really getting married, huh? I thought you were done with all that.” We return to the lounge, where Emily is so consumed with her new toys she pays no attention to us.

  “So did I, until I met Angelique. She's made me see the world in such a different light. She's been like a breath of fresh air.”

  “And how did you two meet?” Faye asks.

  “On a cruise. She was working on it. I came in for a facial one day and kept coming back.” He laughs. It's the kind I remember – the being in love again laugh. “We got talking, and I couldn't believe someone so stunning would give me the time of day. I thought she was just being friendly because it was her job.”

  I take a quick glance at his wristwatch, and nod to myself. Yeah, she probably took one look at that Rolex and saw her opportunity to score a sugar daddy. She probably spotted him a mile off. Lonely old man, deceased wife, taking a cruise alone = payday.

  My glass is empty when I go to take another swig. It's perfect timing as it's gone right through me. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

  While I'm finishing up I hear that someone has arrived, as the voices get louder, more animated. So the mysterious Angelique, my future stepmother, has arrived. Just for a second a brief spell of nerves washes over me, and I internally scold myself for it. Why does it matter who this woman is or what I think of her? I won't be seeing much of my father anyway. That ship has sailed. But even with these thoughts, I still suck in a deep breath and head back out to join the others, bracing myself for a gold-digging bimbo with fake, well, everything.

  As I step into the lounge, I see my smiling wife, my beaming father, and then I see her, kneeling down playing Barbies with my daughter. I freeze on the spot, my mouth wide open. Because this Angelique is no longer a mystery; in fact, I know this woman very well. Too well.

  “Love, this is my fiancee, Angelique. Angelique, this is my daughter, Nikki.”

  She gets up, her smile huge and pearly white, and kisses me on both cheeks before wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. “It's so nice to finally meet you, Nikki.”

  I'm too stunned for words. Surely she remembers me. Surely she knows this isn't the first time we've met. After all, for two years we were screwing each other's brains out!

  I haven't said much of anything since this startling revelation. What can I say? Everyone's smiling and happy, and I'm just sitting here staring at my soon-to-be stepmother, who was once responsible for giving me the best orgasms of my life. She looks even more beautiful than I remember, though I never thought something like that possible. Natural blonde hair cascading down her back, full, cherry red lips, blue eyes the shade of sapphires. She's the type of woman who stops traffic, who could get men to do anything for her. In our two-year, on-off relationship, or whatever it was, she was great at getting what she wanted.

  “Bernie was just telling us how you met,” I hear Faye say. They've been speaking for a couple of minutes, but I wasn't paying attention. “How he couldn't believe his luck when you gave him your number and, more surprisingly, it was the correct one.”

  Angelique, who of course went by Angel when I knew her, chuckles in her beautiful way, grabs my father's arm lovingly. “Well look at him, he's adorable. Why wouldn't I want him to call me?”

  I can think of several reasons, I think miserably. My stomach feels queasy, and I'm pretty sure it's not because of the champagne. This seriously cannot be happening. What sort of fucked up world is this?

  “Are you all right, Nik?” Faye asks, rubbing my arm. “You've gone slightly pale.”

  “I think I just rushed the champagne. Drinking on an empty stomach and all that. I'll be fine.” I force a smile.

  “The good stuff will do that to you,” Angelique says.

  Are you kidding me? How can she be so calm, act so normal? There's no way she doesn't recognize me. The things we did together, I still think about them to this day; I can't be the only one. But she doesn't appear to be fazed by me at all.

  “So when's the wedding?” Faye continues.

  I watch Angelique grab my father's hand like the dutiful future-wife she is, and my stomach jerks a bit again. I'll need therapy after this, for sure. My ex-girlfriend is about to marry my father, the voice inside my head is screaming. I just want to get out of here and never return.

  “It will be a summer wedding,” Angelique says. “July fifteen, five months from now.”

  “I would marry her tomorrow if she'd let me,” my father says with a laugh, squeezing her hand.

  “Now, now, Bernie, remember what we talked about. We don't want to rush into this marriage before the time's right. That never ends well.”

  “I know, sweetie. I'm just so eager to be your husband.”

  I'm scowling hard at him, at both of them, but I'm praying they don't notice.

  “Well, we both know why that is.” Her grin is mischievous. “Is it all right if I tell them?”

  My father clears his throat, his cheeks lighting up slightly. “Sure. We're all family here.”

  “We've decided to keep things traditional and wait until we're married to...well, you know.”

  Yes, I do, and my relief manifests itself in a loud sigh that everyone can hear. I quickly turn it into a cough in an attempt to disguise it. The queasy feeling has slightly diminished now that I don't have to think about my father sleeping with my ex. That's a marriage I hope never gets consummated.

  “How romantic!” Of course Faye would say that.

  “I think so at least. Bernie's still adjusting.”

  Everyone laughs except me.

  “What about you guys? How long have you been married?” Angelique addresses Faye. She's been doing that a lot, actually. Now that I think about it, she hasn't looked me in the eye much. Is that her conscience at play?

  “Five years,” Faye says proudly. “We met at a charity fundraiser.”

  “Someone had an allergic reaction to seafood, and this beautiful woman comes rushing to the rescue, pushes everyone aside and saves the day. I think I fell in love with her the first day I met her.”

  Faye gazes at me with love in her eyes, and when she looks at me like that I fall in love with her all over again, like we're back at the fundraiser. But that illusion is shattered when I see, through the corner of my eye, Angel's face, and remember where I am and what is happening here. Although I have every right to talk about loving my wife, it starts to feel weird in Angel's company. That's never happened with anyone else.

  “What a beautiful story,” she says. Then she turns to my father. “Bernie, have you given our guests a tour yet? I'm sure Faye and Emily would love to see the rest of the house before we eat. Why don't you show them around?”

  I watch my father take my daughter's hand, my wife take the other, and walk out of the lounge, leaving me alone with my future stepmother. My nerves are all over the place; I'm shaking like a leaf in the breeze.

  “Is this a joke?” I spit out almost immediately after they've disappeared.

  “Good to see you too, Nikki,” Angel says with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “So you do remember me.”

  “Of course I remember you. How could I ever forget the woman who proposed to me after our second night together?”

  Her laugh comes off as more of a cackle, and I feel my cheeks burning up. I wish I could say she was lying, but what she's said is all true. Our first night together had me in a daze for a week; it was the only thing I could think about. Up until Angel, sex had been good, but never wonderful. By our second night together, the proposal sort of just slipped out. It was more of a suggestion, right after she'd given me my third orgasm of the night. She'd laughed then just as she di
d now, told me I was insane, and that she was too young to think about that sort of thing. I mean, it took months to realize she would have made an awful wife, but great sex clouds your judgment.

  “What the hell is this, Angel? Or should I say Angelique? Which of those is actually your name?”

  “We were together for two years and you didn't know my full name is Angelique? I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. You were only concerned with one thing when we were together.”

  “That's not true.” It's just that she was really, really good at that one thing. And, well, it's not exactly good etiquette to ask to see someone's driver's license to check if they've given you a false name, is it?

  “That's all water under the bridge now. It's been a long time. We've both moved on. Your wife is great, by the way.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. You see, I know this woman. I know that everything she says always has a double meaning, sometimes the opposite meaning altogether.

  “Not your usual type, but great all the same.” And there it is. The tiny dig. That's her style. Nothing has changed.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugs. “Just, she's very...normal. Very safe.”

  It's been a couple of minutes and she's already getting under my skin. She was always good at that.

  “Safe is good. The alternative to safe results in me being hospitalized, arrested, and taking part in illegal street races at three in the morning!”

  She's laughing hard now and I continue glaring at her. “But we had fun didn't we? You can't ever say there was a dull moment in our relationship.”

  “Look, what are you doing here? You don't even like men.”

  “A lot has changed in seven years, Nikki–”

  “So now what, you're straight? And what the hell are you doing with my father? Surely you saw a picture of me. Why didn't you end it then?”