Room Service

by Poppy Dunne

  He smells like aftershave and conifers and snowy air, and his lips claim mine, seeking and scorching. I twine my fingers through his hair, and he locks me in an embrace, pressing me against his body. I don’t know how long we stand there, kissing each other. But I gently come back to reality when I get a tap on my shoulder. Ben and I break apart to find Gunther there, smiling pleasantly.

  “We have given the call to Grace,” he says. “She has apologized—in fact, she has said that she will fuck herself tonight with a cactus simply to atone. She is very excited to help you, and we are happy to play for your club! It will be the greatest honor.”

  “That’s, that’s amazing!” I cry. Ben kisses my cheek.

  “It is.” Gunther beams. “Now go to your celebratory rutting. Enjoy the conquest! I have to get a drink for Vasilissa in celebration of her new freedom.” He turns and does just that. Vass, meanwhile, is fully partying down next to Katie. They’re even doing the hip bump thing. And Todd’s sulking over by the chocolate bar, sitting in a chair, chin in his hands like a pouting kid. Well, them’s the breaks.

  “What do you want to do now?” Ben whispers in my ear. I take only a second to think.

  “Maybe we could go upstairs? My room has a great view of the city at night.”

  His eyes glint with a slightly wicked light. That’s a delicious image.

  “Nothing like a room with a view,” he murmurs, kissing me.

  So we go upstairs, and sex is on.

  We haven’t even slammed the door shut before Ben’s trying to unzip the back of my dress. I tug him backward, thinking we’ll land gracefully on the bed. We crash straight into the closet door instead, and something falls over. It sounds expensive. Screw it, we can deal with that in the morning.

  “I’m sorry I was such an idiot,” I gasp, kissing down his throat while I nearly tear his shirt open. Fucking buttons, man.

  “I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” he replies, picking me up by the waist. My legs wrap around him as he carries me to the bed, finally depositing me on the comforter. I look up at him, trailing the tips of my fingers along his incredibly square jawline. Damn, it does not suck to be me sometimes.

  “If we’ve both apologized, can we forget all about this for now and just have sex? Immediate, passionate, but still with a condom sex?”

  “Always,” he growls, and finally gets fed up with my goddamn dress and pulls the strap off my shoulder with a satisfying rip. I shimmy out of the taffeta and coral chiffon thing, and an instant later Ben’s shed his shirt. I run my hands down his perfectly sculpted chest and abs before impatiently tugging his belt off. It goes on the floor, along with my bra, panties, and any semblance of sanity I had left. Ben’s mouth is hot on mine an instant later, his hands cupping my breasts. He leans down and takes my right breast in his mouth, licking at and sucking my nipple.

  Instantly, my clit is throbbing with need, and I guide his hand down between my legs. He moans in approval as he slides one finger into me, curling it to tap at my G-spot.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispers against my throat. I’m already on the verge of climax, born out of sweet relief. I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life tonight. It’s amazing when not everything turns to absolute shit.

  He turns me over onto my belly and slaps my ass just once, enough to make me hiss at the sweet sting of his palm against my skin. Then he strokes his hand down my ass and slips his fingers back inside my pussy, playing with me until I’m even wetter than I thought I could be. I can’t believe how good he’s finger fucking me as I moan into the sheets, grinding my hips as he pumps in and out. I’m struggling to stay in control, teetering on the edge. But Ben won’t let me fall completely, not yet.

  “I’m going to come,” I moan, bucking as he pulls his hand away and then flips me onto my back, pushing me up toward the headboard. There’s the rip of foil, and Ben lowers himself over me, hitching my leg up over him.

  “You come when I’m deep inside you. Not before,” he whispers, kissing my throat. I whimper with need, clutching at his back as he rubs up against my entrance. I’m ready, crying out with need as he teases me. Then he enters, gliding into me perfectly, stretching and filling me as I gasp. I clutch at the sheets.

  “Tell me how much you want it,” Ben says, his breath catching in his throat. I think he’s riding the line too, a moment away from coming. I love that I can get that kind of response from him. I plant kisses along his jaw, down his throat. He growls, sinking even deeper into me. My pussy clenches around him, welcoming him.

  I press my lips to his again, raking my nails down his back. He stiffens, moans, then begins to ride me. One arm snakes around my waist, pulling me even tighter against his body as we move.

  “Fuck me hard. Make me come,” I whisper in his ear. “Please.” And he responds.

  The bed creaks beneath us as I move with Ben, and then he flips me over so I’m on top of him. I move slow, languid, taking him in as deep as I can. He groans, cupping and massaging my breasts as I ride him. He touches me again, rubbing my clit once more as I buck and twist above him. Jesus, I’m so fucking close now, and so is he. Our breaths come in short, sharp gasps, synchronized.

  I start whispering Ben’s name over and over again, almost like a prayer or a chant. He responds by thrusting deeper inside of me, all the way to the hilt, driving me mad. Once more, he flips me onto my back without ever pulling out of me. While I twine my hands through his hair, he moves faster, harder, with more hunger than ever before.

  “Say my name. Come for me,” Ben groans against my mouth, kissing me roughly.

  “Ben,” I cry, arching my back as I feel the pressure building, traveling down my legs, my arms, my entire body as I get closer and closer, until…

  An instant later, the orgasm crashes and breaks. I cry out, calling his name, giving him exactly what he demanded. Ben thrusts again and again until he cries out and falls on top of me, still pounding deep and strong. He clasps me against his body, slowing to a shudder as he finishes. We lie there, spent, listening to the distant, tiny hum of New York City traffic multiple stories below. For several minutes, I can’t even think about speaking. I’m too wrapped up in the glorious afterglow. Eventually, however, I manage to sit up. Sort of.

  “Just tell me one thing.” I lift myself up on my elbow, my hair curtaining my face. “Why’d you decide to come back?”

  “Besides the fact that I’m man enough to know when I’ve made a mistake?” He grins, swiping some of my hair out of his eyes. “You don’t become an entrepreneur without knowing anything about persistence.” He gathers me back against him and kisses me.

  Persistence. What a beautiful word.

  21

  “Who do you think had better sex last night?” Katie asks as she pours syrup all over her peanut butter-smeared waffles. The status of our intimate relations is going to be standard conversation in the Harrington clan gatherings now, I take it. Which suits me just fine. She and Rollie are sitting opposite Ben and me in the hotel café the following morning, blearily enjoying a post-celebratory brunch.

  “Us, definitely,” I say. I take a sip of my orange juice as Ben smiles.

  “I think we should let the newlyweds take the title,” he says to me, quickly grabbing his phone for a text. Probably with Schilling, or someone like him. Probably making gains in his entrepreneurial, man-of-destiny life. You know what? That doesn’t bother or matter to me. The point is a.) he’s not a douche, b.) he’s actually wonderful, to be honest, and c.) he’s pretty goddamn hot.

  C is the least important, of course. But it’s a pretty lovely bonus.

  “Where are you two heading off to on your honeymoon?” Ben asks. Rollie stretches, looking sleepily pleased. His red curls are still rumpled. Hopefully he invests in a comb, so I don’t have to do the big sister thing of reaching over and smoothing his hair. Which I do. Because I’m awesome.

  “Tahiti. We’re excited.” Rollie winks at Katie, who beams.

  “Lounging on
white sand beaches, drinking mai tais?” Ben suggests.

  “Better. Building more adequate housing for the local populations.” Rollie pulls up the work program, Empathy International, on his phone and shows it. “We’ve been working on our carpentry skills for weeks.”

  “There’s nothing dirty I can even use to make a joke out of that,” Katie says, kissing her new husband on the cheek. Then she rolls her eyes. “I’m just so glad we’re not doing what your mom wanted, hon. Going to Paris, spending a ton of money on shopping. Buying a bidet for the new house. I don’t want a toilet whose only function is to wash my ass, thank you very much.”

  Yep. That’s Mom. But I’m feeling kind of gentle toward her right now. After our little talk last night, and before Ben and I ran upstairs to bang like crazy, she came over and said she was sorry. She sort of mumbled it into her drink, of course, but she seemed sincere. So I’m taking this as a good sign, a sign that we can move forward and maybe even start getting along again. And if she starts pulling any of that crap about men or marriage or wrinkles or my career, I’ll be in an emotionally healthy place to tell her to stuff it.

  “Babe, the car should be here in, like, five minutes,” Katie says, starting to get to her feet. She wolfs down a last few bites of waffle as she does, sucking syrup off her fingers. I never knew a classier dame.

  “Hold on,” I say. “I have something I wanted to give you two. As a honeymooning present. I rustle through my purse and come up with a little box wrapped up in a big silk bow. It looks like a standard Tiffany’s kind of present, very chic and expensive. Katie takes it, looking bemused.

  “Whatever’s in here is probably going to be a little too nice to take to the jungle,” she says, though she smiles as she unties the bow.

  “Wait for it.” I wink at Ben as he looks at me with a quizzical expression. Katie gasps as she pulls out…

  “This is the best mosquito repellent on the market! Holy god, it’s like three hundred a tube! They give this to the royal family whenever they go south of the equator! Where did you get this?” she says in awe. She and Rollie look ready to break into the repellent right now, even though the only irritating insects nearby are the table full of Broadway producers in the background talking about how firm an ass they want on their female lead.

  “The internet is a wild and wonderful place. Plus, I knew you two would want something practical for where you’re going.”

  Rollie nearly picks me up and squeezes me so hard it’s difficult to breathe. “Best sister ever,” he says, and kisses the side of my head. Then he gives Ben a fake warning glare. “You better be good to this one.”

  “Way ahead of you on that,” Ben says, shaking Rollie’s hand. “Enjoy your trip. Let’s hear all about it when you’re back.”

  “We’re going to take pictures of so many housing structures, I’m going to shit myself,” Katie says gleefully. “I can even try installing some plumbing!” Finally, she and Rollie grab their bags and roll out of the restaurant, toward the curb. Ben’s hand finds mine beneath the table, and he squeezes my fingers. I look at him, marveling at his eyes, the line of his jaw, the way he could get through half a perfectly-made Denver omelet and then stop himself from finishing. That’s control you don’t see every day.

  “Rollie’s got an excellent big sister,” he tells me, winking.

  “And I make an even better girlfriend.” I wince. “Not for Rollie, I mean. Oh god, that came out wrong.”

  Ben laughs, brings me closer, and kisses me. The kiss liquefies everything inside me, warming me, filling me. Making me want to throw a leg over him and jump his bones here in the restaurant. Give those Broadway producers a real show they’ll never forget. One step at a time, girl.

  “Of all the hotel rooms in all the world, I had to walk into yours,” Ben murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I mean, that sounds a little creepier than I wanted, but I stand by it. Thank god you have a healthy appetite.”

  “Not just for food,” I purr, nestling against him. He wraps an arm around me.

  Although, right now, yes, for food. This breakfast won’t eat itself, after all.

  Epilogue

  “Bleurt! Bleurty!” Vass cries, dancing around me as the lights flash and the music fills the space. Clouds of dry ice rise into the air, all the strobe effects standing out starkly against them. I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with a jumping crowd of excited twenty somethings wearing glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces. I’ve never seen House of Jazz this packed before.

  I’ve also never seen us draw a crowd with so many different ages. We’ve got old timers in long ponytails and leather jackets, all the way to millennials on their phones, broadcasting this to their vlogs or whatever. YouTube should be full of Of Fire and Llamas tomorrow, showing clips and broadcasting how amazing House of Jazz is. Then you’ve got some middle aged, upper end of Generation X fake hipsters who’ve brought their babies. Nothing unites the generations together like a bunch of rowdy Nordic folk rockers dry humping their instruments.

  Of Fire and Llamas also sounds pretty good. Sometimes they do the screaming metal thing, other times they whip out an acoustic song and make the music more soft and soulful, and every once in a while they bring out an accordion for good measure. Who knew Gunther was so skilled on that particular instrument? Grace Goodwin came up to me right before the event started and apologized. Then she punched me in the stomach to show how sorry she was. Grace is…interesting.

  Now I’m quietly nursing my sore gut while I grab my phone and hustle into the front entrance. Nigel is there, bopping along to the music, his boy toy of the week draped over his shoulders and nibbling his ear. The guy looks twenty-two at best. Nigel sure knows how to pick ‘em.

  “Darling, darling, you’ve saved my fucking life. I’m in your eternal fucking debt. If I didn’t loathe all vaginas, I’d give you the orgasm of your life,” Nigel barks cheerfully, kissing me on both cheeks. He’s got a right to be happy. Of Fire and Llamas has agreed to extend their shows with us. They’re doing two more this week, just because they love the vibe here so much. In fact, Lars burst into tears when he first came into the club, blubbering about how he’d been dreaming of walking through those doors since he was a kid. Only his teddy bear would calm him down.

  We may need to make sure he doesn’t get too excited.

  The band staying on is just the tip of this particular fame and fortune iceberg. Already, we’re fielding more hot and up and coming bands desperate to play for us than we know what to do with. We’ve even got some pop acts desperate to get in on the action, asking if they can use the venue as an opportunity to play to a more intimate audience, get back to their roots and reestablish their street cred. I’m not sure yet how we want to proceed. But I’m sure we’ll think of something. We always do.

  Right now, though, I’ve got some more pressing matters to attend to. I get outside, and see I’ve got a text from Ben.

  Can’t get away. Fie on investors. Fie!

  I’m disappointed, sure, but I love me a man who fies all over the obstacles in his life.

  I text back: No worries. See you tonight?

  I hope so. Keep a good thought. I’ll try to make it.

  Sighing, I flip over to Ben’s food delivery app. It looks bright and cheerful on my screen, and the girl character who guides you through your food options perhaps looks a bit like yours truly. Just a little. Just a smidge. Even the bangs are kind of lopsidedly accurate.

  Grinning, I order up about fifteen pizzas. Everyone’s going to be hungry after the set, and from what Gunther tells me, the band eats like a platoon of starving horses. Or llamas, if you will. And Vass really packs it away. Who knew a girl that thin had such a good appetite? Last night, she had two pieces of pie and an ice cream sundae with a pitcher of beer on the side while the rest of us were just nursing a single drink.

  Yes, with Ben’s food app, I can keep all the starving Norwegians in my life completely satisfied.

  Finished, I go
back inside and keep my phone handy, waiting for the buzz telling me to go outside and collect the sweet mountain of pizza-y goodness. The band is going all out. Their energy is fantastic, their moves perfectly practiced. The smoke machines are chugging, the electric lights are flashing. No chickens’ heads were bitten off. No goats were launched into raspberry jam, because we couldn’t clear it with the health inspector. These guys are doing great, and they’re honestly a lot more subdued and professional than I thought they’d be. Granted, Sven has now started pulling his pants off to reveal nothing but his Swedish flag onesie, but hey. It’s a look.

  Vass and I are dancing around, feeling the music and feeling good, when my phone buzzes. Her eyes light up, and she sends me off with a ‘hurdy dur’ or something.

  It’s a text from the delivery guys, telling me the pizza’s outside and waiting. Great. Now that I’ve burned about thirty calories with dancing, I’m ready to make up for it with five slices of pizza. Don’t question me, my concept of nutrition is flawless.

  I push through the crowd, but I can already see that Nigel’s let the two guys in. They’re wearing Ben’s company’s uniform, jackets and baseball caps with the logo emblazoned on them. Fabulous. I rush over to help show them where the green room is—

  And one of the guys has a brighter smile and flashier blue eyes than I was anticipating. My jaw drops as Ben winks at me over the pizza boxes.

  “Turns out my meeting ran shorter than I thought. So. Where do you want these?” he asks as I grab one of the boxes. I can’t decide which I’m happier about, the speedy delivery or my boyfriend handling about five thousand calories worth of melted cheese.

  It’s the latter. Definitely the latter.

  “Can you stay?” I ask as I take us to the back room. Ben puts his boxes down, and so does the other guy. The guy definitely looks interested in the music, and wanders out kind of open-mouthed. Already, he’s swaying his hips, enjoying the beat. Ben grabs me by the waist and pulls me up against him, his hands roving down my back. I feel my entire body flush. I could definitely get used to this.