by Andi Burns
“And if I don’t?” I sass.
“I’m gonna spank that gorgeous ass.”
All teasing comments die on my lips. I can do nothing but moan into his kiss, that action, my silent but unequivocal acquiescence.
His hands follow the curve of my waist and glide over my hips, stopping at the hem of my dress. His eyes look to mine for permission, which I gladly give. He inches the fabric up slowly, enjoying every second of torturing me. Fabric gathers at my waist, as he slides his hand between my thighs. As much as I’ve denied it or downplayed it, I’ve been dying to get to this moment. I’ve been dreaming of the feeling of his fingers on my flesh. Parting my legs, I press my back into the hard, cool tile, tilting my hips up a fraction to give him access.
His thumbs hook into the lace of my panties, grazing my center and causing me to cry out. “Holy hell. I need you to touch me.”
At that very second, I hear the door handle rattle. “And I need you guys to hurry the hell up in there. Christ! I gotta piss!”
It’s not the first time I’ve been interrupted during sex, but, dammit, this is really good—
“Sorry,” Ev calls, his voice clear, loud, and unapologetic. “This bathroom’s out of order.”
“We’re on borrowed time, sweetheart, so I’m gonna make this quick. Then we’ll head back to my place, ok? This is only the beginning.”
There’s no time to even process what he’s saying, much less remind him that I’m not here for the long haul. His strong, firm hand takes one last pass between my thighs, stroking me through the thin fabric and applying just enough pressure to make me ache with need.
Stepping back, he reaches for my hand. I am in no shape to leave this bathroom right now, but I don’t have to worry about that. Instead of leading me to the door, he takes me to the sink and stands behind me in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my lips are bee-stung, and my face is flushed. I look like I’ve been caught mid-orgasm, which is nearly true.
Ev’s mirror image floors me. He’s so handsome—tall and broad, decisive and commanding. Lips parted, eyes dilated, he’s just as consumed as I am. Before I can comment on his lust-filled gaze or the fact that I like the way he looks when he’s turned on, I feel his warm palm on the small of my back, pressing me forward over the sink.
The woosh of fabric is my only warning before I feel the silk of his tie wrap around my wrists, binding me to the faucet. Sweet. Jesus. A rush of desire pools low in my belly. My God, he’s barely touched me, and I’m shaking with need.
An upward glance shows Ev positioned behind me, hands on my ass. “You good, Molly?” he asks.
“God, yes, but I’ll be better when you’re inside me.”
“Be patient, gorgeous. I’m just getting started.” Hooking his fingers in the sides of my panties, he shimmies them down my legs. I step out of them to widen my stance and feel his hand at my ankle, scooping them up before they hit the floor. I check the mirror again, only to see him pocket my underwear. That should piss me off, but, damn, it turns me on.
“When I take you tonight, Molly, it’s going to be in my bed, your body spread wide, so I can play and feast for hours.”
So, if I have to wait for sex, what are we—”
I hear him shift behind me, as he drops low and says, “But right now, I’m going to taste you.”
His fingers part my opening and tease the wetness there. I cry out, my words unintelligible noises. I’m half-naked, bound to a bar’s bathroom sink, and I’ve never been hotter in my life.
“Jesus, Molly.” He drags his fingers through my channel, causing shivers to race up my spine. I hear the smack of his lips and the suck of his tongue on his fingers as he tastes me for the first time. There’s something otherworldly about not being able to see him while he teases and pleases me. All my senses are on high alert, and the sensations are heightened.
The warmth of his breath caresses my opening, and it’s all I can do to hold in my scream of ecstasy when his tongue meets my core. I peek upward at the mirror to watch myself being consumed by the pleasure.
The woman in the mirror has no responsibilities, except to revel in the dirty, delicious ways her lover brings her to the brink of orgasm. My lips are full and open, my breaths stuttered and panting, my eyes bright, but dazed, my cheeks pink with desire.
Ev’s tongue flattens and presses at my folds, building heat and need. He flicks the tip against my clit and I nearly lose my mind. Alternating between those two heavenly sensations, he pushes me to the edge. I’m dying to satisfy the hunger I’m feeling. I ache to touch my breasts, to pinch their hardened peaks—anything to ease the desire inside me.
Just when I think I can’t handle one more second of this delicious torture, Ev’s tongue drives inside my sex, releasing my orgasm and pushing me over the edge.
My body writhes in the aftermath. God, I’ve never felt anything like that. I hear the rustle of fabric as he stands. His body wraps around mine as he rains kisses over my shoulders and neck.
“You’re incredible, Molly.”
Tenderly, he glides his hands down my arms and unties my makeshift restraint. The silk tie didn’t hurt or chafe, just the opposite, really, but he takes time soothing my skin with kisses and soft touches.
We’re in a damn public bathroom, and Ev is all wrapped up in aftercare.
Where’s a parallel universe when you need one?
I can’t give in to the urge to see where this relationship could go, but I can give us tonight, so that’s what I do.
I open my eyes slowly, as if my mind knows I’m in unfamiliar territory, so it wants to give me time to adjust.
The room is dim, the only light spilling in from the window in the corner. The shade’s been pulled haphazardly, leaving it at a crooked angle.
I’m not at my house.
I’m in Ev’s hotel room, I realize, as the events of last night come flooding back to me. The shower is running, and I swear to God he’s whistling.
Spotting my clothes in a heap on the chair, I roll out of bed and begin to get dressed. A quick glance at my phone reveals that it’s quarter after 8, and I have seven missed texts. I scroll through with one hand while I tug on my shoes with the other. Most of those are from Ava, late last night, rehashing some girl drama; one is from Elaine, saying she misses coffee, food that requires chewing, and me; and one from Nick, giving his thumbs up on my relationship with Ev. I start to reply and set him straight, when I realize my folly.
Ev clears his throat from the doorway, and I turn, nearly stumbling, because I’m only wearing one shoe, to see him fresh from the shower and wearing only a towel. And a pissed-off smile. “Whatcha doin, Molls?”
Hmmm. Morning after protocol for getting caught while attempting to sneak out... I run through my mental rolodex…
You know what? Fuck it. He wants to know what I’m doing?
“I’m putting my clothes on, so I can leave, but then I got distracted by my phone…”
“So I caught you before you made it out the door.”
I wiggle my left foot into the strappy ankle boot that was a great idea yesterday, rise to my full, heeled height, and look him in the eye. “Yes.”
“Are you looking to get spanked again? I mean, you seemed to like it last night…”
“No.” My answer is quick, and maybe a little panicky.
Ev takes it in stride, which unnerves me even more. He sits on the bed like none of this is happening right now—like he’s not naked and wet, lounging against a mound of pillows. Like I’m not messily dressed and trying to sneak out like a teenager. Like we didn’t have shake-the-walls sex hours ago.
“This,” I gesture around the room and between the two of us, as if he needs an explanation, “can’t happen again.”
“I got a message at 5 that morning.” He says this plainly, as if I’ve said nothing, as if we’re just listing random facts now.
He continues, “Nate texted to let me know that bad weather was coming in, so he booked me the last seat on a
n earlier flight. It was dark when I left, Molly—dark and bleak outside. I kept the lights off in your place, got dressed using the flashlight on my phone, wrote you a note, kissed your forehead, and left.”
“Ev...” I do not need this trip down memory lane.
He ignores my protest. “Yes, I’d given you a fake name. And no, I never expected to see you again. I had no idea you—Grace—were Molly, the woman my sister adores and never stops talking about. But I knew I didn’t want to leave. I knew we shared a connection. I knew—” he shakes his head and looks at me, as if he’s afraid of saying too much. “So tell me, Molly. Tell me why this can’t happen again. Because we seem to be falling into a pattern here.”
“I don’t want a relationship, Ev. I’ve done that. Many times. It always ends terribly. I’m not cut out for it. I don’t have the time for it. And, frankly, I don’t need it. I’m self-sufficient. I’m not going to have children. I don’t need a sperm donor or a partner or whatever.”
He cracks a smile for the first time since last night. “Well, that’s good news. I couldn’t help anyway. I had a vasectomy when I was 25.”
“You what?”
“Had a vasectomy when I—”
“I heard you. I just… Wait. First of all, twenty-five?”
“Yea. I’ve always known that—”
“That’s some bullshit right there.”
“The fact that I’ve always known I don’t want to father children is bullshit? How?” He looks at me curiously, probably because I’ve made a similar claim.
“No, obviously we agree on that—neither of us wants to be a parent. It’s some bullshit that you were able to get a vasectomy. I have to be on birth control. I wanted to get my tubes tied, and my doctor looked at me like I was crazy. Fucking patriarchy.”
“Bastards, all of them.” He’s standing now, his towel slung low, but still hanging on. As he strides toward me, I can’t look away. There is something magnetic between us, and I can’t resist him. I need to keep my boundaries in place, but surely that can’t be too hard. People do it all the time, right?
He stands before me, naked but for that damn towel, and I can’t help but reach my palm out to touch his smoothly muscled chest. Maybe this could work?
“So, you’re not looking for an insta-wife?”
He shakes his head no.
“And you’re not eyeing up my hips, gauging how many children I can give you?”
“Yes to eyeing up your hips. Hell no to the rest.”
“You promise you’re not some co-dependent, jobless asshole who’s going to ask to move in after our second date, which, of course, you’d make me pay for?”
“Jesus. No, to all of that. Well, sometimes to the asshole.”
“Ev, our lives are already connected. I—”
“Molly,” he stops me, his voice gentle, but his tone firm. “We’re adults. So is Elaine. This isn’t high school. What we decide to do inside and outside the bedroom is our business and no one else’s.”
“So we can play this our way?”
“Why not? I’m not a rule follower, Molly, and you’re not either. We make our own rules.”
“So, sex. And friendship. But nothing long-term.”
“So much sex. Dating, but it’s casual,” he counters, wrapping his free arm around my waist.
“So casual,” I emphasize.
“And exclusive,” he adds.
“Absolutely.”
“And there’s going to be so much sex.” He reminds me.
“Starting now.” A quick tug is all it takes to release that towel and sink to my knees.
“Does your man like a lot of meat on his bun?” Stella asks, as she stirs the sauce on the stove. “What am I saying? Of course he does. Men love a nice thick piece of meat in a hot bun.”
I’ve invited Ev over for dinner, and Stella is beside herself with excitement. I was planning to make chicken and veggies, but Stella has commandeered the kitchen, used every pan we own, and is cooking up a family favorite—Italian Roast Beef.
I’m setting the table and using the good china, even though we’re basically eating picnic food. No matter. I’m not messing with Stella’s directives, especially when she’s wearing an apron that says Your opinion wasn’t in the recipe.
“All right, lovey, come here and stir every few minutes, but be gentle. Don’t bruise the meat. I’m gonna go make myself presentable.” She looks down at her black leggings and beaded sweater in disgust and shuffles toward the bedroom in search of different black leggings and a different beaded sweater. And a new apron, of course. She must have a dozen.
I hear a knock at the door and abandon my post to greet Ev. I feared it might be awkward, this ‘friends-who-hang-out-and-have-all-the-sex’ thing, but it isn’t. We hug, and he leans down for a kiss.
“Thanks for coming over,” I say, as I lead him into the kitchen.
He offers the bottle of wine I hadn’t noticed he brought, and smiles. “Thanks for inviting me. A home-cooked meal and the promise of meeting the irrepressible Stella? You couldn’t keep me away.”
I lean up on my tiptoes to reach the wine glasses. For some crazy reason, Stella insists on keeping them in the tiny cabinet above the fridge. I’m a tall gal, and it’s still a hell of a reach. I feel Ev step behind me, pressing his front to my back, and trapping me in between his body and the counter. No complaints here. He reaches his arm out to grab the glasses and the scent of him envelops me. Setting them down, he braces his hands on the counter, and I can feel his breath at my neck. “Goddam, Molly. You’re killing me in this dress.”
It’s a hell of a dress; he’s not wrong. It’s got a sweetheart neckline, and it nips in at the waist and flares over my hips, before tapering down to my knees. Not gonna lie, I can rock an hourglass silhouette.
Tilting my head back, I rest it on his chest and drink in the sight of him. Before his lips can meet mine, I hear Stella call out from the bedroom. “Honey, did you stir the sauce?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Be gentle now. Don’t bruise the meat.”
“I won’t bruise the meat,” I promise, as I bump my backside into the hard wall of deliciousness behind me. “The meat is very important to me, I assure you, Stell.”
“I know it is, you saucy girl. I taught you right. Now pull yourself away from that hunk of man, so I can get a good look at him.” I hear the tell-tale clop-tap of Stella’s boot and kitten heel as she makes her way down the hall.
I start to step aside to introduce Ev, but he clasps my shoulders and steadies me in front of him.
Belatedly, I realize why, as the hard bulge of his erection rests against my back.
“Stella, this is Ev.” I lean to the right and smile up at him. “And, Ev, this is Stella.”
“It’s so nice to meet you. And thank you for having me over.” Ev’s charm is at full force, but there’s nothing fake about it. He’s just that likable.
“I’m just glad to meet you, dear. I think the world of your sister, and I’m just so glad Molly suggested that we all have dinner. Now, come sit. Everything’s just about ready.”
We busy ourselves by getting drinks and bringing dishes to the table. Dinner is delicious, as I knew it would be. Stella’s a fantastic cook. She doesn’t bother with measuring or weighing things. And she has no need for the recipe cards she insists on keeping in the box on the counter. She knows all the best dishes by heart.
Unsurprisingly, Stella and Ev adore each other. She’s a sucker for a charming guy, bonus points for silver foxes. And sure, he’s not all the way there yet, but the salt-and-pepper at his temples surely qualifies. He laughs at her jokes, and it’s genuine; Stella’s a riot, and I can tell that he enjoys her spunk just as much as I do.
Dinner is over too soon, and before I can suggest dessert, Stella makes her excuses. “Now, my dears, I’ll just clear this table and then I’m off to Basket Bingo. I don’t usually go to these things. They don’t serve alcohol, and you have to bring your own damn blot
ter, but it’s a fundraiser for Doreen’s granddaughter’s school, so we’re all going. Hopefully, there’ll be time to get a drink after.”
“Is Bill driving?” I ask, naming Doreen’s husband.
“Always. He’s the DD, whether he likes it or not. But he doesn’t complain. He knows he’s lucky for the chance to hang out with us,” she responds, without a trace of irony.
“Don’t worry about cleanup, Stella. We’ve got that under control,”Ev assures her.
She won’t listen to him, though. I know she won’t. No matter how many times I say I’ve got this, or I can take care of something, Stella always hip checks me out of the way.
“Oh, thank you, dear. How sweet. And I’ll take you up on that very kind offer. Let me text Doreen to see if they can come now.” She tap-clops down the hall in search of her phone, and I stand in the dining room, stunned.
“You’re catching flies, Gorgeous.” Ev cups my chin and gives me a quick kiss, before lifting serving dishes off the table and taking them into the kitchen.
“I can’t believe she’s letting us clean up.”
“Believe it, Sweetness. And blow those candles out, will you?” he calls.
“She never lets me help. Stella is the sweetest, kindest woman,” I explain, as I carry the last of the plates over to the sink. “But she never asks for help and never accepts it either. She’s one of those frustratingly capable people who won’t take help in any form. She always thinks she knows best, even when a little assistance would lighten her load and let her relax, you know.”
Ev stands before me, six feet and several inches of pure sexiness, wearing too-small dish gloves, and a knowing smile. “I’ve known people like that…” he says, wryly.
I give him a hip check of my own. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”
We fall into a pattern where he washes and I dry.
“So, how did you two meet? My first guess is that you were college roommates, paired together by the university because your answers to the compatibility questionnaire were identical. But something tells me Stella may have graduated just a few years before you.”
