She wraps her tongue around him and draws him in, a shallow dip into what she has to offer. His moan above encourages her, but still he demands nothing, the gentle touch of his hand in her hair a comfort. She pulls him in, centimeter by centimeter, reveling in each moan. When she has taken all she can, she drops her hand and strokes his testicles with her nails before widening her mouth and taking him into her throat.
He tightens his grip on her hair, pulling her away.
She knows the last thing he wants is for her to release her hold on him. She reaches around, grabs onto the back of his thigh and ass, and pulls him deeper.
“Fuck me.” He moves in rhythm with her lips.
She draws her tongue along after her lips, extending the pleasure for him, suckling and biting with restrained nibbles as his cock twitches in her mouth. The scent of his desire fills the great hall as the smooth perfection of his cock slides along her lips and tongue.
He reaches down and shoves both hands into her updo, pulling her hair free of its constraints so he can grab and pull. He fucks her mouth, directing her speed and taking the pleasure she offers freely.
Instead of resisting, Janice throws herself into the job, taking him deeper than he asks, pulling hard and solid against each stroke. She kneels before him, begging to be used. Her nipples rub against the inside of her dress and the friction draws them out into sensitive buds. Her knees go weak, not from the marble floor beneath her, but from the pulsing desire in her cunt.
“Shit, Jan, do you want to stop? I’m—”
She silences him with a nip on the ridge of his head before taking his full length into her mouth again. She holds him tight as his movements become erratic, his final climb toward ecstasy in view. He pushes against her and for a moment it’s difficult to breathe, but she takes him in, swallowing more so he fills her mouth and throat.
A strangled cry echoes through the dark museum, awakening the Gods and Goddesses from their slumber and calling for them to witness this offering.
She swallows the evidence of Salt’s release, and quickly wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She repositions herself on the floor, relief and blood flowing into her legs.
He remains standing, eyes closed and cock at half-mast, with a dreamy smile on his face.
“Did you fall asleep?” She looks up at him with her legs curled behind her. Is she worshiping him or Artemis? Or perhaps she’s the one being worshiped.
“I do have to wonder if this is a dream.” He pinches himself and grins.
“Careful, you might wake up and find yourself face down in Tiramisu.”
“A fate worse than death.” He pulls his underwear back up, steps out of his pants, and eases down to the floor beside her. “I’d much rather dream of you.”
She leans against him and lets her head fall against his shoulder, relaxing into the moment. Tonight will end and she’ll return to her day-to-day existence, but for now, she drinks in the musky scent of his skin. How can I miss someone I’ve only just met?
“This is nice,” she murmurs.
He kisses her head. “Sorry about your hair.”
“Totally worth it.”
“You really can’t go back to the party now.”
“Damn, I’m heartbroken.”
“Guess you’ll just have to spend the night with me.”
“Salt—”
“I mean here, in the museum. You’ll have to stay here for a while.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Her sigh is heavy with regret.
“Any chance you’re going to tell me what happened now?”
“Nope.”
“Will I see you again?”
She buries her face into his neck, drawing in a deep breath. “No.”
They sit in silence, allowing the high ceilings and ancient art to carry the heaviness of their lives away. For now, they are just a man and a woman, stealing a moment.
Salt wraps his arm around Janice and pulls her closer, nuzzling her ear. He takes it into his mouth and moves his tongue down her neck, leaving a trail of electric desire in his wake.
She turns, the marble floor allowing her to slide easily in her dress. Face to face, she’s stunned again by how handsome he is—expressive eyes, noble nose, a strong jaw, and full, delicious lips. She envies the woman who will someday find her place on his arm, but for tonight, she pretends it could be her.
He traces the line of her cheekbone, moving his finger down to her lips.
She parts them, taking his fingertip into her mouth.
He clenches his jaw, the muscle in his cheek flexing. “You fucking kill me.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Show me.” She presents the challenge with a smirk.
The light in Salt’s eye turns predatory. A pause stretches between them, filling the air with anticipation. Then he smiles.
She falls back on the ground, legs bent beneath his.
He descends on her neck, pulling her flesh into his mouth. He gruffly massages her breast with one hand and fights layers of fabric with the other, searching for what hides beneath.
She laughs, arching up to him.
He grabs her shoulders and pulls her up.
She laughs again, limp and compliant. Even without alcohol in her system, she is intoxicated. The rougher he becomes, the more obedient her response.
“Come here.” He digs his fingertips into her upper arm and pulls her up to standing, holding her steady. “Why are you always fucking with me? Every time I see you, it’s like a fucking bar fight.”
Her expression transforms from a teasing grin into the face she hides from the world. “Because it’s the only way I can have you.” She casts her eyes to the ground, destroyed by the revelation.
“No, that’s not true.” He presses his lips to hers without pretense or expectation, seeking her truth. He grips her waist with intensity, pulling her up almost off her feet as she clings to his strong frame.
He half-drags, half-guides her to a pristine, white marble wall, and leans his weight against her.
The pressure of his cock, hard once again and ready for her, blurs her reality.
“You are so beautiful... exquisite.”
His whisper spreads across her flesh, setting the blood in her veins on fire. It courses through her body, seeking a cure to this burning need. She wraps a leg around him and jerks his body closer, slamming his erection into her core.
The contact sends him into a frenzy. He reaches down and wrangles the floor-length gown up to her waist. Hands shaking with need, he discovers her garter belt, and below, her lack of underwear. He strokes her liquid desire with his strong hands.
“I thought you didn’t know I’d be here.”
“I didn’t.”
His body tenses and he stops moving his hand, leaving Janice to grind against him.
“Then why?”
“Maybe... maybe I hoped.”
“You wanted me to be here?” He peers into her eyes, demanding the truth. For once, she’d better give him the truth.
“More than you know.” She leans in to kiss him as he frees himself from the confines of his underwear.
In a solid motion, he thrusts himself inside her, and halts deep within.
She takes a deep breath to steady herself. He feels so good, stretching her cunt in a way few could. A primal need pulses, demanding her to move. Without her consent, the deep, inner muscles of her desire tighten around him, making them both moan.
His wide, perfect cock twitches, and then he begins to move with long, slow strokes, pushing her against the wall.
She glides with each movement as the smooth fabric of her dress slides along the marble. She brings a leg up around his hips, and he leans in, pressing her into the wall before lifting her other leg. She surrenders as he grips her ass and uses his weight to pin her in place.
Deep and steady, each thrust pushes through her layers of protection and isolation, demanding she open for him.
She clings
to his back and bites his shoulder through his shirt, trying to move her hips and speed their dance, but he’s so much stronger.
The determined line of his jaw tightens as he restrains her desperate, flailing body. He pounds against her inner wall, speeding up and beyond the line between pleasure and pain, until he can no longer hold her.
She has nothing to anchor herself to as the air itself becomes liquid and she glides out of control. The only solid thing in this world is Salt, so she gives in, releasing into his arms.
He grimaces and grabs the top of her dress, pulling it down to expose her breasts.
The sudden chill makes her gasp, but soon he presses his chest against her, the fabric of his shirt harsh against her sensitive nipples.
He wraps an arm around her waist and hoists her higher, seeking purchase in this insubstantial world.
“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling out of her and dropping her to her feet.
“What?” Janice stands on shaky legs, leaning against the wall for support. The sudden loss of his thickness within her leaves her adrift.
“Get on the floor.”
“What?”
“Do I need to say it again?” He hovers over her, the shadow of desire making his lips turn at cruel angles. “Get on the fucking floor.”
She nods and drops to her knees, expecting to be used again.
Instead, he follows and takes off his shirt. He drapes himself over her body in a smooth motion, and then chuckles darkly. “This dress is really in the way.”
She stands and unzips the gown, letting it fall to the ground so she’s naked before him, but for a black garter belt and stockings.
He shimmies out of the last of his own clothing and lies on his back, beckoning for her.
She straddles him with a devious smile, sliding her wet cunt along his erection. “Do you have any condoms?”
“Uh, no. Shit.” He fumbles for his pants and tears through the pockets.
“Then you’re out of luck.” She stands over him with her legs spread, giving him a perfect view.
“Fuck, I didn’t think—”
“Next time you’ll know to be prepared.”
Something resembling a whine escapes his lips as she turns away and bends over to retrieve her dress, knowing his view at this angle highlights her perfect, round ass and strong legs.
“Will there be a next time?”
She sighs and pulls on her dress, zipping it up as she turns to the naked man lying prone on the floor. She has no room for him in her life, and the complications any further contact would bring. She shakes her head, willing away thoughts of a life they can never have.
“No, there won’t.” She slips on her heels, and walks out on him for the second time.
Saving an Unsavable World
“No you fucking don’t!” Salt calls to her from behind.
Janice holds her dress up over her chest and rushes away from the naked man behind her. The sound of him fumbling with his pants follows her.
She darts around a corner and peers through the dim light, searching for the exit. She can’t go back to the benefit—her hair has that recently fucked look men love so much. Plus, the side of her dress has a little rip in it.
She pauses to slip off her heels, and then keeps running, slipping on the smooth floor in her stockings. Fear mounts in her chest as she considers how close she came to letting him in. How close behind is he?
She feels the phantom sensation of his lips on her neck, his cock inside her, his fist in her hair. God, it was like being young and free and in love all over again. That’s exactly what makes him so dangerous; she loses herself and her ability to stay focused on what’s important around him. She shakes her head and picks up her pace. It just can’t happen.
“Jan, where the fuck are you?”
His voice echoes through the grand halls, and she ducks into the African Sculpture exhibit. Shit. She’s nowhere near the entrance. She scans the area for a back exit, or another way out without running into the likes of Senator Macleod. She weaves through the rooms, ducking into the Modern Art exhibit and running up the silent escalators.
“I can’t believe you’re making me chase you.” Salt’s exasperated voice rings out from below.
“I’m not making you. You could just walk away.”
“This is fucking insane. Come down here.”
She stares down at the bunched up fabric of her dress. He’s right—she’s acting like a child. When is the last time she ran away from anything? Shame replaces the fear in her heart, and she descends back down the escalator. At the bottom, Salt waits for her. His pants are on and his unbuttoned dress shirt hangs lazily from his shoulders.
“Finally. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
“Really? You’re going to tell me the truth?”
“Yes, but....” The anticipation of his anger, the disappointment in his eyes, or worse, the titillation of what being with someone like her could mean for his cock, all converge to make her pause. “First, tell me why you don’t recycle. And don’t bring up the floating island of garbage.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes. Tell me that, and I’ll tell you everything.”
He sits on one of the backless benches in the middle of the Modern Art exhibit and stares at her, frustration and confusion warring on his face. “You are a lunatic.”
“Yes.” She settles next to him on the bench, curls her legs under her, and waits.
“I don’t recycle because it’s useless.”
“Useless? Are you—?”
“Let me finish.”
“Fine.” She pulls bobby pins from her hair and combs it straight as they talk.
“It’s useless because that’s not how the end of the world is going to play out. By the time three cardboard boxes from IKEA make a goddamn difference, we’re going to be fucked. Honestly, we’re already fucked—there’s no sense investing all that money and effort on fucking aluminum cans.”
“I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He shrugs. “It’s true.”
“I was expecting some smartass, it’s-not-my-problem bullshit.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, who carries around that kind of fatalism, but still fucks like you do?”
He laughs with an open, unhindered guffaw that fills the empty hall. “It’s kind of freeing, actually. When you know, absolutely and for sure, that the world is doomed, all that remains is to live.”
“But you work at the UN.”
“Population Fund.”
“Right, so you’re one of those green assholes trying to make the world better.”
“Nah, the world isn’t going to change—it’s done, cooked. Pull the toothpick out and nothing sticks.”
“Did you just make a baking analogy?”
“No, shut up. I’m just trying to keep going. When you can see the end so clearly, nothing really matters.”
“Like recycling.”
“Exactly.”
“So why bother at all?”
“Because there’s some kid out there whose mom was raped in front of him, and it wasn’t the first time. He’s got AIDS, or malaria, or fucking smallpox, and no one cares. If I can do anything before we all shrivel up and die, I’m gonna show him that not everyone is a shitbag. There are people who will try to, I don’t know, help.”
“Then why not recycle?”
“Because it doesn’t matter. What I do doesn’t matter either in the big scheme, but it matters to that kid. The IKEA boxes don’t know life is shit. That kid does.”
She contemplates that for a moment. “You can’t cure AIDS, or malaria, or smallpox.”
“Nope, but maybe it’s enough to try.”
They sit in sullen silence. Colorful, abstract art full of deeper meaning surrounds them, mocking their attempt at connection. The surface may be beautiful, but everything within runs black.
“I run a brothel,” she blurts.
<
br /> “What?”
“A brothel, a whorehouse. You know, people come, pay money, and fuck.”
“You.... What?” He stands and steps away from her, narrowing his eyes as though trying to force his vision back to black and white now that she’s turned on the color.
“I told you it was better if you didn’t know.” She stretches her legs out and faces him, waiting while he reorients to her revelation.
“Are you a hooker?”
“No.” She rubs her hands together. How much should she reveal? An old feeling of shame washes over her and she soaks it in, pulling strength from how far she’s come since then. “I used to be. Now I run things.”
“This is impossible.” He runs a hand through his sex-ruffled hair.
She scans the taut muscles beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and regret churns in her heart. “I know.”
He sits next to her with his legs turned in—intimacy still within reach. “I mean, I spent all last week working on an initiative to fund training for former sex workers in South East Asia, and you’re a fucking hooker?”
“No, I’m a madam.”
“Right, that’s so much better. You’re the pimp.”
“In a way, yes.”
“I have to go.” He stands, buttons his shirt, and pulls on the jacket he dropped on the bench.
“Wait, Salt—”
“What? What can you say now?” He glares at her, anger and judgment pouring off him in waves. “You’re right, this is impossible. I can’t.... Fuck! Do those people in there know what you do?”
“Some of them. Some of them don’t just know, they partake.”
“So you’re what, the Manhattan Madam?”
She laughs. “That article was so awful. I’m not on the Governor’s speed dial.”
“That was about you? Shit, I was fucking kidding!”
“You’re full of shit, you know that?”
“What?”
Janice stands, facing off against her lover. “You stand there judging me and what I do after you basically doom the world to the apocalypse, and don’t think it’s worth doing anything to make things better.”
“And providing blowjobs for five dollars makes things better?”
Sugar & Salt Page 9
