by Casey Lane
He mused over you, and your eyes hungrily followed his long finger. It slowly smoothed the full lower lip of his wide, mobile mouth that seemed a little hard in repose. But that disquieting thought dispelled when he flashed a dazzling white grin. The grin elicited a breathless laugh from you sweeter than the bubbles rising in a glass of pink champagne. You must have said something extraordinarily witty to earn such a fabulous smile from such a man.
Fleetingly, he almost caressed your cheek with the same long finger in lazy response to your bubbly giddiness. You were now sure this spectacular man had succumbed to your inner brilliance, and you proudly preened in reaction.
A thick, silky strand of golden hair then fell across his eyes, begging to be smoothed away. But with a casual flick of his masculine head, he tossed his long hair back. The man’s practiced move should annoy, but it didn’t. How could it when you were so caught up in his sensual smile, the smile that teased and promised to deliver dark delights, if only he chose you as the next woman to receive his unleashed passion.
At least, that was my take on the younger man while I amusedly observed as he razzled-dazzled the four women at his table. It was true; I had been happily married and buried in the country for the last quarter century. However, that fact didn’t stop me from respecting the sheer size of the balls it took for the man to mutely seduce the four different women at his table--all at the same time. Of course, the size of his brain for choosing to do so was debatable. Luckily for my purposes, his IQ was not my concern.
Along with the four women, there were two other men seated at the table. Seven was my new lucky number because they weren’t all couples after all. With his fierce talents, the blonde angel would be my first choice for tonight. He would know precisely what to do, and be relieved as me to walk away when the sex was over.
That was when I overheard the girls at the bar whispering about his European parentage. I slowly approached closer. Golden boy faced me across the table, but I didn’t think he’d noticed me stalking him yet. He stared down at the glass being slowly twirled in his big hands. After effortlessly charming his female companions, he now seemed bored and oblivious to the action surrounding him.
Not me. I was deliberately holding my eyes open wide because of the false eyelash anxiety, but they would have been wide open anyway. Off to his right, a svelte blonde and a busty redhead were shuffling their tall stools for the spot closest to my target. Both girls were pretty and I admired their glossy looks. I also admired their spirit as they quietly, viciously battled for precedence.
On his left side perched an Asian woman. She was so adorably tiny, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Garanimals was written on her clothing labels. She was also the woman most recently almost cheek touched by the man’s caressing finger and still preening proudly. Miss Perky sat straight as a gymnast, an exaggerated arch to her back. She chattered nonstop to the quiet, unresponsive man staring into his drink.
An enormous black man with Medusa hair loomed next to Miss Perky. His big hand rested on her thigh and spanned practically from her knee to her crotch. He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a hungry growl. It was none of my business, but I feared the giant would split the tiny Asian girl like dry kindling should she succumb to his mating call.
Past those two sat another blonde; this one Hollywood platinum--like yours truly. Her back was to me, but she’s the kind of younger woman you didn’t need to see the front of to know she was beautiful. She was squirming in her seat and giggling while slapping half-heartedly at the arm of the massive man on her other side.
Big Bubba completed the circle. He was the yin bookend to the yang huge black man. White, freckle-faced, and sporting a mullet a lovely shade of carrot, he had a long reach and very busy hands. I didn’t envy either blonde their spots around the table.
There was a commotion in my peripheral vision. I looked over and lost my train of thought. The large group of white shirts had entered the bar. They all stood there, eyelids blinking so rapidly I could see it happening from where I was standing. It was as if all of their eyes were having trouble adjusting to the dim lighting. I warily watched a few of the men from the group walk towards the bar. They were bumping into people and not bothering to apologize.
I was near enough to hear the friendly bartender, Michelle’s greeting. “Welcome, what can I get for you gentlemen?”
One of them clumsily wiped a brow. His lips moved a few times like he was talking to himself before he pointed and mumbled, “Beer.”
Putting a mug under the tap, Michelle’s eyes ran over the group, her smile faltering. “So where are you folks all coming from this evening? Having fun at Casino Night?”
Another man swayed on his feet. He looked pale and not at all well, but loudly mumbled something about a mission in Haiti. It was hard to understand his speech because his jaw was clenching and unclenching. I saw another of the group doing the same strange stretching motion with his mouth. Maybe they weren’t drunk, but high on something.
Checking out the others by the bar’s entrance, I noticed only a couple of the women stood there now. Their mouths also moved spasmodically. This was getting really strange.
The rest of the white shirts were moving down the aisles and intermingling with the crowd. I lost direct sight of them, but their staggering progress was like a wave of bad attitude parting a sea of friendly customers. After a moment, I shrugged it off. I thought with their sweaty, pale faces and jaw tics they all looked like they were coming down with something and would be better off going to their rooms, not getting more ripped, but I was no nurse.
I caught a glimpse of the golden man again. Nervously, I began winding my way through the last people standing between me and my date-to-be, but then I had an epiphany that stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me before now. It made me forget the bizarre actions of the white shirts, or that I wasn’t supposed to smile wide for fear of the clown issue, or that my undies had ridden up my butt crack again.
I am a childless, forty-two-year-old widow who is still in love with her dead husband. I have a slim, toned figure and consider myself reasonably attractive. I can ask any man I want, even the handsomest man in the world, who is way too young for me, to share a couple hours of no-strings sex because I couldn’t care less if he rejects me. My second or third choice would do just as well.
Isn’t there some saying that in the dark all penises look alike? I am cursed with insomnia and blessed with a phenomenal memory. I research topics of interests extensively, but I lean more towards the scientific or historic, not the pornographic. I’d have to ask Liz. She always knows that sort of arcane, dirty trivia.
The intense, quarrelling whispers of the blonde and redhead penetrated my moment of supreme empowerment.
“I said move over, Gigi, I was here first.”
“I’m not going anywhere! You move if you don’t like it, Catalina. Hey, quit it!”
“You quit it!” Slap.
“Ouch! Bitch, that hurt!” Smack.
“That does it, you…”
“Hi, I’m Rod Ramaldi.”
At the sound of his smooth voice, I regretfully tore my wide eyes away from the catfight. They slowly traveled up over muscles and more muscles until they reached past his patiently smiling mouth to meet his slightly inquiring gaze. Apparently, grown women fighting over who got to sit next to him was no biggie for Rod Ramaldi. He didn’t react or spare a glance their way.
Rod’s grin was dazzling at two feet away, too. I hadn’t known it until now, but I guess good teeth are important to me in a fuck buddy. His were perfect. Actually, Rod had some of the prettiest choppers I’ve ever seen on a man below the age of seventy.
I glanced at the bickering women one last, fascinated time, and then entreated in a low voice, “Please tell me you never, ever have unprotected sex.”
The perfect grin hesitated for a second before growing wider.
He looked me up and down slowly whi
le he did that rubbing the long finger across the full lower lip thing again. “Hmm, you sure don’t look old enough to be my mother.”
Snorting, I shook my head. “I’ll give you an older, wiser sister or possibly a very young babysitter, but your mother?” I narrowed my eyes and wagged a slow finger. “Bite your bad tongue, sonny boy.”
Rod chuckled and gracefully swiveled around on his backless stool to face me. He leaned back with his elbows on the table. If he was chewing on a piece of straw, he couldn’t look more at ease. I read that open body language to be a good sign and moved closer. The cat fighter’s paused mid-hiss, and the others at the table looked our way as well.
Warm eyes were skimming over me with a little more serious appreciation when one of his giant friends called out, “Yo’, Ram, why don’t you introduce us to your little lady friend.”
I glanced over. It was Bubba of the mullet, probably wanting to get his big paws on me because of the blondness. His ear-splitting grin revealed some big teeth and some big gaps. I was definitely not that empowered.
Rod ignored him. When he raised his dark brows, a strand of shining gold hair fell across his cat eyes. I noticed the gold of his irises were ringed with dark brown. The color alone was strikingly unusual, but the way his eyes slanted slightly upwards gave him a sexily exotic appearance. He was smiling politely when I focused on him once more, but I sensed a little disappointment that I’d been staring. Poor boy, women must gush over his outstanding looks constantly.
I murmured, “You have got to have a crap load of lipochrome in your irises to have such yellow-colored eyes.” I peered closer and frowned. “Hmm, maybe some Sami in your bloodlines, as well, although the epicanthic fold is very slight.”
Rod stilled for a second, but then the grin was back. “Well, I can’t say for sure, Ms…? But would you care to share another glass of wine and tell me all about it?”
Not to be outdone, Medusa joined in with, “Ram, man, you’ve got enough women wanting your white ass tonight. You can send that one right over here to this lonely brother. Now come here, sweet thing, don’t you be afraid of T. Bookerson Brown. I may be the meanest, baddest, maddest mofo in town,” Bubba interrupted with jeering catcalls, but Medusa talked louder over him, “but ain’t nobody, NOBODY, ever gonna tell you I don’t know how to treat a lady right!” He patted his monstrously wide thigh encased tightly in black dress slacks. Seeing my blank look, he coaxed, “That’s right, pretty baby, come here to big daddy T-bone. Mmm hmm, I won’t hurt you none, I promise.”
“Does he really expect me to come over there?” I asked the man in front of me. This time I suspected Rod was watching me with secret amusement.
Rod shrugged lightly and his wide mouth curled slightly. “Stranger things have happened.”
They’d have to be pretty damn strange, but I shook off my confusion.
Brimming with determination to get the show on the road, I stepped between his knees and lied while looking Rod straight in the eyes. “I’m Mary Jensen.”
Not taking my gaze off his, I secretly marveled at Rod’s chiseled bone structure. He had a classic high, broad forehead, a long, straight nose, a wide mouth with perfectly shaped lips, and a square chin. The man may be a bastard, but his family tree had great genes.
I was momentarily taken aback at how much I wouldn’t mind touching the man’s smooth, golden-tanned skin.
Considering our audience, I settled for efficiently hooking that annoying hunk of hair behind Rod’s ear before saying quietly, “If you insist, we can share a glass of wine and share polite small talk about the indigenous Finno-Ugric people of the Arctic, etc., etc...”
Rod’s lean cheeks had a sexy crease right under the middle of each cheekbone when he smiled broadly and prompted in a low voice, “Or..?”
“Or,” I whispered near his ear, thinking empowerment was a wonderful thing, “we can leave right now and go share body fluids. Your choice, Rod…Ram.”
Placing a proprietary hand on Rod’s arm, Miss Perky’s rosebud mouth pouted.
She frowned at me. “Who are you? What are you two whispering about? Order me another drink, Ram sweetie.”
“Ask T-bone,” Rod stood up and her tiny hand fell off his arm, “or order it yourself.”
Stepping back, I felt her hurt glare at Rod’s brusqueness. I’m almost average height for a woman but he towered over me by close to a foot, which made him around 6’5”. Busy watching the hard-bodied man stand upright in all his angelic glory, I didn’t worry too much if I was stealing Miss Perky’s date. Besides, I’d never see any of these people again after tonight, and so far, I didn’t much like what I had seen. The big men had a strange bond of some nature, but the women seemed more like competitors, and not the friends I first took them to be.
Rod nodded Medusa’s way and indicated the table at large. “My tab, T-bone.”
Medusa scowled back, waving him off. “Ah, fuck that, Ram...”
Bubba interrupted, “Language, assmouth. We’ve got ladies at the table!”
Medusa shot him a dark glare but said to Ram, “You don’t always need to be the one payin’, man. No worries, no worries, go have some fun.”
They did that secret club, fist bumping thing. The giant guy shook his head sadly at me, the sinister look dissolving with his sparkling smile. T. Bookerson Brown is a good looking dude, if you’re into men that easily weighed over three bills, had long ropes of snake hair, and two gold front teeth.
His teeth gleamed. “You don’t know what you’re missing, pickin’ that skinny-assed cracker over me.”
I jumped when Bubba slammed down his beer mug. “Just who you callin’ a skinny-assed cracker?”
“Not you, Ray Dean!’ T-bone roared back, jabbing with a finger the size of a braut. “You I call a pussy boy that can’t stop even the ‘skins D. I was ashamed, ASHAMED, by how they laid your freckly, fat ass out. You was cryin’ like a baby needin’ to suck on your mama’s big, white milk titties.”
I gaped as Medusa T-bone loudly slurped, mimicking a baby suckling. Bubba Ray Dean clasped his hands behind his head, elbows straight out. He flexed his massive biceps until the muscles were jumping like animated watermelons under his tight shirtsleeves.
“Wasn’t suckin’ on no white milk titties made me this strong, playa, but yo’ mama’s! Sheeit, your name ought to be limp dick, not T-bone, the way you let those cowboys…”
Their nonstop insults flew rapidly back and forth. The men’s accents were different, but they had to both be from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon. After hearing the cowboy reference, maybe it was Texas.
Groups of people sitting nearby strained to listen, shocked delight written all over their faces. I thought good luck to them because half of what the huge goons were saying was incomprehensible and I was standing right there. Throughout all this, the women at the table sat silently, but their glaring death rays directed at me were loud and clear.
I’m used to living around tough men that tell dirty jokes and curse. I always get their jokes. These two huge guys were a whole different breed of foulmouthed crude. Edging away from the table, I thought Rod Ramaldi seemed different, but I’m no psychiatrist. What did I know in five minutes? They were his friends. I hoped I hadn’t made a big mistake and Rod would join in their public argument over what flavor milk was in whose mother’s breasts.
As if he sensed my intention to bolt, the man in question put a firm hand on my lower back. Rod bent a little to speak near my ear. “To think this is after they’ve spent a recent mandatory stint at Hazelden learning how to play well with others.” I was treated to that slow, sensual smile from a couple of inches away. “Lead on. I’ve always wanted a big sister.”
“Sick!” Laughing a little despite my uncertainly, I set the full wine glass down on their table.
I was actually leaving the bar with a hot, younger man. He’s a complete stranger that looks like a badass biker, only he smells good and is clean shaven. I’m going to have a real penis at my dispos
al for the first time in over two years, and with a man not my husband for the first time in ever. My knees were knocking.
Chapter Three
“Sex; the thing that takes up the least amount of time and causes the most amount of trouble.” -John Barrymore
Rod took the lead when we exited the bar. I could swear his sexy smile was meant to be reassuring when he reached for my hand. I gasped in shock at his touch.
“I knew the sparks would fly between us,” Rod murmured, raising a brow at my shuffling high heels on the carpet that had caused the static electricity.
I smiled a little, liking his easy humor.
Rod put his free hand to his heart. “Mary, the minute I saw you in the bar, I was struck by a lightning bolt.”
I chuckled, feeling more at ease every second while Rod led me down the corridor past the red, funky chairs and turned left into a short hallway.
“I thought to myself, Self, that is one red hot woman,” he hit the up arrow at the bank of elevators while his eyes danced and he licked his lips lasciviously, “in an older sister-babysitter kind of way, of course.”
I snorted, now having fun. I pretended to punch him lightly in his rock hard stomach. A happy smile spread across his face at my reaction.
“It’s true, I was electrified when you approached me,” Rod pulled me into the empty elevator and pressed a button again to close the door, “and on fire after you whispered in my ear.”
I laughed, but it turned into another shocked gasp when my back was suddenly against the elevator wall. My eyes rose in surprise to see him watching me, those unusual golden eyes intent on my face.
“Now smart Mary, you are going to burn for me.”
I lost the urge to laugh. Rod’s words didn’t even sound too corny when I was blasted by the desire he openly showed me in his gaze. His hands gripped low on my hips and slowly pulled me tight against him. My eyes widened. He wasn’t lying about the on fire part.
