Claire: Ramya crashes my final Demarcus fling

Date #5 with my future husband.

The movie is whatever. Some glossy action thing with too many explosions. I stop tracking the plot ten minutes in because Tanner’s hand is on my thigh and the back row is dark enough that no one can see us.

He kisses me slowly at first, then deeper when I open for him. I twist in the seat and climb halfway into his lap, skirt riding up, one of his big hands sliding under the hem to grip the bare skin just below my ass. We make out like teenagers for most of the runtime. I love it. The way he groans quietly into my mouth when I suck on his tongue. The solid wall of his chest under my palms. How carefully he keeps his hand from going higher even though I’m practically grinding against his wrist.

It's inappropriate in public, but still innocent and wholesome compared with my normal dating life.

Afterward we walk the mall hand-in-hand. The fluorescent lights feel too bright after the dark theater. My lips are swollen. My panties are a mess. Every few steps he squeezes my fingers and I squeeze back, smiling up at him because he’s tall enough that I still have to tilt my head a little.

In the car on the way home I finally say it.

“Don’t you want to lock this down? The boyfriend-girlfriend talk?”

Tanner keeps his eyes on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other still holding mine across the console. “We’re doing great taking it slow. I don’t want to pressure you.”

I look out the window so he won’t see my face.

I got my first wax for this.

The clean, bare feeling between my legs is suddenly ridiculous. I was hoping to get laid. Instead I get another respectful good-night kiss at my door and the soft promise that he’ll text me tomorrow.

I close the apartment door behind me, lean against it, and exhale hard enough that my shoulders drop. My body is still thrumming. Five dates. Sweet, steady, church-adjacent Tanner who checks every box and still won’t take what I’m offering.

Tanner's slow burn is working. We value each other more, we are getting to know each other before sex becomes a distraction, and he has me on the marriage track. It's everything I wanted. But I need someone to put out these flames tonight.

I unlock my phone before I can talk myself out of it. I know I shouldn't do this, but I can't help it. I send the text.

Me: I want you tonight, one more time. Please come over.

Me: I'm sorry for being fickle. If you say no, I understand.

Me: But if you come, I'll let you put it *anywhere*.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Demarcus: On my way.

I change into leggings that hug the ass I’ve worked so hard for and a loose tank that doesn’t quite hide the fact I’m not wearing a bra. My breasts are large and firm, and it's a good look on me that he loves. I start a quick dinner. Nothing fancy. Pasta, garlic, whatever vegetables I have. The kind of meal that makes the apartment smell like someone lives here and cares.

He knocks twenty-five minutes later. When I open the door the familiar rush hits me all over again.

Demarcus is taller than Tanner even. He's broad through the shoulders, skin a deep rich brown that is exotic and taboo for a white girl like me. The shirt is tight enough that I can see the clean lines of his abs when he moves. He grins because he knows exactly why he was invited.

I don’t let him get two steps inside before I’m pressing against him, hand sliding down the front of his jeans. He’s already half-hard. Thick. Heavy. I squeeze and feel him swell under my palm.

“Fuck, I missed this,” I murmur against his mouth. “I want it so bad.”

He kisses me like he owns the right to, slow and thorough, then pulls back just enough to look at me.

"Well you're getting fucked tonight, girl, don't worry. Damn, it smells great in here."

I grin. "Come on, I'll feed you first."

As dinner winds down and Demarcus is looking hungrily at my breasts for dessert, he asks, "I thought you said you found your future husband. Does he know that?"

"I think he does actually. Because of that he's going very slow. That has the unfortunate side effect of making me incredibly horny for you. I want to fuck you so much it makes me stupid.”

Demarcus grins and raises his glass. "I'm here to serve. And you're sure about him?"

"Yeah."

He nods once, like he’s filing it away. “I’m happy for you, Claire. You’re wife material. You cook—” he glances toward the stove—“you clean, you treat a man very well and make him know he matters. I love coming here.” His eyes drift lower, at my breasts again, then to my crotch. “But you are built for black cock, and you know it. You’re the OG queen of spades.”

His words make me close my eyes as a shiver washes through me. I don’t argue. “You don’t seem jealous I’m moving on.”

He laughs under his breath. “We have the same problem. My parents would lose their minds if I brought a white girl home for real. I don’t mind being recreational use for you.”

Something in my chest loosens. "And I for you," I say. Demarcus is up, clearing the table for me. He looks so hot as he begins to clean my kitchen. I come to him and kiss him again, harder this time. “Let me freshen up. Then I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

In the bathroom, I pee and then make sure I am super clean for him. Demarcus is very generous with his oral sex skills. I run my fingers over my pussy and marvel at how silky-smooth the skin feels. I’ve been shaving for a while, but waxing left it completely stubble-free. Then I don a special set of lingerie that I bought to use with Tanner. Pink lace bra that lifts and pushes my tits together, matching thong that sits high on my hips, garter belt and stockings. The straps dig in just enough to make me aware of them with every step. I’ve never worn anything like this for a man. The fact that Tanner won't be the first man to see it makes the lace feel filthier against my skin.

I have an unread text from Ramya. She's done working out and might stop by. I check her location on the Find My app, and she's close and looks like she's coming to my apartment instead of hers.

I stare at the screen for three full seconds. I should probably stop this train wreck.

I don’t. The thought that she might walk in on us is equal parts nerves and heat. Interesting, I decide. It could be interesting.

I’m still in the bathroom when I hear a knock, then the front door opens. We have that kind of comfort level now: a courtesy knock, but come on in and don't wait.

Demarcus’ voice carries down the hall. “Claire, there’s a very tall and sexy but intimidating Indian girl in your kitchen. She looks surprised to see me.”

I stick my head out. “It’s Ramya. You guys met at the bar.”

When I step into the kitchen, Ramya is standing by the counter in black booty shorts and a sports bra, still a little shiny from the workout, long dark hair pulled up in a messy knot. Six-foot-one of long limbs and golden-brown skin. She looks between us, reading the room in half a second the way she always does. Dinner is done, we're a drink or two in and about to have sex.

“You remember each other?” I ask.

Demarcus grins, eyes on her. “Yeah. I asked for your number, but when I called, it went to Claire.”

Ramya’s mouth curves. “I don’t fuck black guys.” The words are light and teasing, but I catch the flicker in her eyes when they drag over his shoulders, chest, and the thick bulge in his jeans. Attraction. Clear as day. She glances at me. “It worked out well for you, though.”

“I agree,” Demarcus says, and he reaches over to give my ass a playful squeeze right in front of my mentor.

Ramya’s gaze drops to where his hand is for half a second too long.

She comes by after workouts all the time, especially on weekends. It’s normal. The three of us standing in my kitchen with the air already thick with sexual tension is less normal. I notice her nipples have gone tight against the thin fabric of the sports bra. I catch Demarcus looking too.

“Stay for one drink,” I say.

Ramya hesitates. “I don’t want to come between you two.”

“I want you here too.”

Demarcus leans a hip against the counter, easy. “That’s fine with me too, love.”

Ramya wrinkles her nose at herself. “Well, one drink I suppose. Then I'll let you guys do your thing. I smell pretty bad. Let me use your shower real quick.”

She disappears down the hall toward my bedroom, booty shorts clinging to the hard curve of her ass with every step. Demarcus watches her leave and checks out her ass and long legs. I don't mind. I'm looking at it too. She's so fucking sexy I could eat her up.

"Are her tits real?" Demarcus asks.

There's nothing fake on Ramya. "Yes. And they're even bigger than mine."

The bathroom door clicks shut. Water starts running.

Demarcus looks at me. One eyebrow up. Waiting.

I meet his eyes and feel the last of my good-girl resolve slide away.